Return Of The Demon
by angst cupcake
Summary: Many people had their own theories, more with questions and fewer trying their hand at answers. But the one thing everyone knew was that Sweeney Todd, once again...was amongst the living.
1. Chapter 1

Return Of The Demon

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Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sweeney Todd (although I wished like Hell I did...)! 

A/N: I just saw "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" and I just had to write something about it! On the way home, my mind eventually began to measure new ideas, and I came up with this one, and thought it was the best (also liked it the best)...

Enjoy!!!

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Chapter One 

Sometimes there are occurrences that defy the laws of science. Occurrences that rip the human mind to shreds, that tear at the seams of sanity. Sometimes said occurrences bring wonder and amazement, others bringing horror and sorrow. Such is the tale that I will weave for you. A tale of sorrow, of horror, and fascination. The very tale of how the Demon Barber of Fleet Street may not be as dead as many had come to think...

It was said, at the beginning of time, that once the living were dead, passed on to better things, that they were not to return to the earth. Never to set foot upon the ground, never to touch another's skin, and never to love an earthbound being. The dead were to remain dead, and the living were to remain full of life, until it, too, diminished.

But, in instances where life is unclear, where darkness shrouds the fabric of time, the most peculiar of things can happen. Such things that play wrongly within the domain of God...

No one, even til this day, is quite sure how it happened. Many have theories, of course, as any curious person does. Many have questions, very few have answers. Ideas have been passed, thoughts have been shared, and experiments have been tried. But like the many mysteries of life, nothing gave their insatiable curiosity a solution.

Yet, no matter how many people have come to learn that there may be no answer to their questioning, they _all_ know one thing...

Sweeney Todd was, once again, walking amongst the living...

_Flashback_

_Toby's small fingers curled around the dreaded silver blade as he crept forward silently, the sound of his feet as quiet as a mouse. There was Sweeney Todd before him, leaning over a dirty woman with discolored blonde hair, blood still raining down from her slit throat._

_How dare he hurt Mrs. Lovett, his poor Mrs. Lovett. His poor, dear, beautiful Mrs. Lovett. He had promised her, had told her, he would never let any harm come to her. And now she lay within the burner, her body rapidly incinerating into ash, her shrieks no longer heard among the roaring flames._

_Twisting the blade in his hand, Toby stepped forward, Sweeney leaning over the woman, tears racing down his face, the make up of his eyes smudging. _

"_There was a barber and his wife, and she was beautiful. A foolish barber and his wife. She was his reason and his life, and she was beautiful. And she was virtuous..." Sweeney stopped, his head raising. He knew the boy was there, could smell him, smell the sewer rank that coated him. He lifted his head to the ceiling, his eyes raking over the room, giving the small boy the go-ahead signal._

_Toby took it, lashing out violently and making a neat, straight-edge cut along Sweeney's throat. Blood immediately jutted forth, spurting and gargling, making sick wet noises as it dribbled down his body. Sweeney leaned forward, the crimson liquid spilling onto his beautiful Lucy, marking her face._

_Toby dashed away, up the stairs leaving behind the horrid monstrosities that lay behind him..._

_"Such a nasty sight." A young police man whistled, sucking in a breath as he caught sight of the scene. The bodies still lay beneath the chute where they had been deposited, the body of Mrs. Lovett (or what was remaining of it) had been discovered when the oven was turned off, and Sweeney Todd was still there...leaning over his wife, his eyes open, a glazed, glassy look clouding them._

_"What'd you say his name was?" The young man asked his chief, the older man stroking his gray moustache. To think he had almost come to the man to get a clean shave. Much thanks to his busy job, he had postponed it. And was quite grateful._

_"Went by the name of Sweeney Todd. T'was the barber of our little Fleet Street."_

_"Nah, I mean, what'd you call him before."_

_"Ah...before your years, and when I was in my prime, he went by the name of Benjamin Barker," The old man gruffed, "I knew I saw him before. Stood as the bailiff at his trial. Such a sad thing, what happened to him...never forget a face kid, you'll find that as a useful reminder for the years ahead."_

_"Yes sir."_

_End_

Pale hands raked at the dirt, nails darkening as the earth snuck beneath them. Muffled screams tore from the ground, none heard by those above. Needed the air, needed the sky, needed the life, needed it, needed it, needed it...

One hand broke the surface, a chill shaking the body that was trying to follow it, wind raking across the freed ligament. It groped around, fingers tangling in the grass, yanking and pulling. The hand became an arm, the arm turning into a shoulder. Beside it, another hand burst forth, as it too grappled around, gripping for support. That hand too became an arm, and that arm too became a shoulder...

There was a loud groan from the dark earth and suddenly a head came forth, dark wild curls coated in dirt, the thin streak of white now gray with filth. It would seem, in an odd sort of perspective, as if Mother Earth were giving birth to this odd being...

The being dragged himself forward, now becoming a torso, the white sleeves and cuffs torn and dirt-streaked. The dark jacket seemed the only thing not askew for the moment. The torso became a pair of thin hips, bent at a funny angle as they jerked from the restricting grip of the earth. From the hips came one leg, bending at an almost inhuman flexibility as it used its position to drag out the other leg.

The being, which could be easily recognized as a man, lay panting on the ground, his breath ruffling blades of grass before his mouth. Dark eyes cracked open, dirt falling from his lashes, and his body rolled over...

And for the first time in ten years, Sweeney Todd, the man meant to be dead and stay dead, came face to face with gray skies of world above.

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How's the first chapter? Reviews would be appreciated! 


	2. Chapter 2

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: I just had to write the second chapter seeing as people reviewed so fast! Thanks so much! I appreciate that!

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Chapter Two 

In a haze, when the mind is unstable, it is hard to tell how much time has passed. The most Sweeney Todd could understand at the moment was that the sky had gone from a sour gray to a sinister purple, a distant roar of thunder growling off in the distance. Small flashes lit up the clouds, the building thunder-heads gathering above him...

He was alive. He was breathing. The air had never tasted so sweet, so pure, so divine. He could feel the grass tickling his skin, he could feel the wind raking over his body, he could feel the ground, hard, beneath him. And very soon, if he were not to move, he would be able to taste and feel the rain...

Giving a groan, Sweeney Todd exhaled sharply. His body, still detached from the world, refused to move. The human body is a strange thing. Under great stress and eagerness, it will move of its own will. Seeming to close off the mind, the body can learn skills its owner never thought they had, such as fighting or defending. Yet, when given the chance to rest, the body will immediately go slack, exhaustion will set in, and any movement will fall limp. Such was the condition of our Mr. Sweeney Todd.

The drizzling started slow. Small drops pelted the grass around him, sometimes hitting him directly. He listened, all sounds enhanced after being forgotten for so long. It was like music, sweet music with no lyrics...

"_Such is the rain, the tears of the Gods,_

"_Small and pure, with their clear bods,_" Sweeney sang gently to the sky, his voice breaking every other note,

"_Last resort to clean, a world so meek,_

"_A world that bleeds, the most foulest reek..._" The song drifted to a stop as the pattering grew steadier. The wind began to pick up, the distant rumbling now closer. The lightening forked across the sky, like the tongue of a great lizard lapping at the falling rain.

Sweeney started small. His fingers. Moving his pinky first, Sweeney moved to his other fingers, giving them all a slight twitch. When finished with that, he moved to his toes, repeating the motion. By now the rain was starting dampen his clothes, making it uncomfortable to lie there on the ground.

He went to his arms next, lifting each slowly, one at a time, then slowly, together. He repeated this as well, several times, and then with his legs. His legs were harder, being heavier and larger. There was no way they could carry him, not a this very moment anyway.

With caution, Sweeney rolled onto his stomach, careful to make sure nothing painful jumped out at him. So far, nothing. Clawing out in front of him, Sweeney sank a dirty hand into the muddying ground. With a great heave, he pulled himself forward a good six inches.

The rain was coming down heavier now, starting to soak his hair, the curls now falling limply about his face. His clothes were getting wetter, the material clinging to his skin.

With the other hand Sweeney reached out, his fingers tearing into the dirt, uprooting the grass. He repeated this again, over and over, concentrating on making it forward instead of the overwhelming exhaustion that was blackening the edge of his vision. With a defiant growl, Sweeney slid forward, his legs like dead weights behind him.

Reaching out, his hand hit something rather hard. With a small yelp, Sweeney drew his hand away. He reached out again, feeling the solid object once more. Squinting through the sheets of water, his hazy vision settled on a strange curved figure, it's body arching up and coming down, reaching the ground, solidly held in place. Glaring at it, Sweeney gripped it's edge and yanked himself forward.

He didn't look at the thing. More or less, he didn't need to. He knew full well where he was, whether or not his mind was actually in the state to be thinking. He knew where he had been, where he had been placed...but just how he was back up here in this world, well that would have to wait to be answered.

With great effort as he sluggishly pulled himself along, Sweeney lifted his leg, pressed it against the head stone behind him, and shoved.

He slid liquidly, the mud gliding him smoothly a good two feet. The smirk on his face faded as the the world around him blackened, the exhaustion threatening to consume him. He waited, breathing evenly, before he could finally see again. Then once again, he reached out in front of him, fingers slipping and sliding, latching onto anything to get himself moving.

Sweeney was consciously aware of the pain now, somewhere in the back of his mind. His shoulders ached terribly, his stomach suffering several scratches as the shirt tore. The palms of his hands suddenly smelt like rust and salt, signaling they were bleeding.

"_Such is the rain, tears of sorrow,_

"_Life so pointless and cruel._

"_Tis the time to rise again,_

"_Make blood rain down on these fools..._" Sweeney hissed to the cold air, the rain soaking his lips as he sang. The song seemed to give him strength, calling out to haunted world before him.

"_Crimson blood like rubies,_

"_Staining my art and work._

"_Washing away my lifted sins,_

"_Bringing back only the worst..._" Sweeney dragged himself forward again. He gave an angry grunt as his hands suddenly no longer met grass, no longer met support to drag him on. Fingers raking along the new ground, he stopped abruptly...

Cobblestone. It was cobblestone beneath his fingers. Oh God, then that meant...this was a road. An actual road. A road _people_ came upon, a road _buggies _drove on. It was a bloody fucking road.

Sweeney's grip became slick as he dragged himself forward, desperately clinging and grasping at God-only-knows-what. The cobblestone slipped through his fingers, and he lashed out again and again, almost frantically.

'Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please...' Sweeney Todd was not a man to beg. No not at all. If any begging was going to occur, it was going to be from his victim to him. But damn him if he really didn't need help right now. And if that required him to get down on his knees and ask for it, then so be it...

Someone, somewhere heard him. His silent mental pleas met someone's ears, and for what seemed like the first time in Sweeney's life, they were answered. It was soft at first, barely able to be heard, only getting louder. Out of his peripheral vision, Sweeney caught something glowing through the sheets of pouring rain, something wavering and swinging...like a lamp.

Horse hooves clopped in his direction, heavy and loud now. Sweeney stopped, bowing his head low, nudging his face into the crook of his arm. He breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the ground centimeters from his face. The hooves cantered about, drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer...

"Whoa girl! Easy! Whoa!" A man's low voice bellowed. A horse whinnied, so close it actually hurt. Sweeney cringed at the noise, his ears far too sensitive for such pitches at the moment.

"What in the name of-" The man cried, startled. His eyes caught on to Sweeney's form, the darkly dressed man in a heap before his cart.

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"Well, what do we have here?" The man, lowered himself from his seat, and placed the horse whip on its hook. He approached slowly, bending down carefully, eyeing the man with caution. With a plump finger, the man prodded his side. 

The dark form let out a moan, his body aching terribly. The horse-driver jumped back, his face horrified. Good gracious! The gentleman was still alive!

"Is something going on out there Mr. Pickard?" A highly pitched voice asked. From the cart, an elderly woman with a bright blue bonnet on, stuck her head from the cab side door. Her eyes widened as she saw her cart-man standing over Sweeney's limp form.

"Mr. Pickard! Is the lad alright?" The woman panicked. The man, now identified as Mr. Pickard, nodded with a pale face.

"Aye, he seems alright Missus Crawly. Not looking too good, but it seems like he'll live." Mr. Pickard informed curtly, making his way back to the cab. He was stopped short when the woman, now come to be known as Miss Crawly, hollered shrilly at him.

"Well don't just leave the poor man there! Hurry! Get a horse blanket from the back," Miss Crawly ushered, "Wrap him up good and tight and get him inside! Oh the poor dear!"

"Right away Missus Crawly." And Mr. Pickard ran around back for the quilt.

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Second chapter is up! Wo0t! Hope you liked it! We'll be getting into a direct plot soon...give it some time. 


	3. Chapter 3

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: So our poor Mr. Sweeney Todd has been rescued by a Mr. Pickard and Miss. Crawly...let's continue, shall we?

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Chapter Three 

Miss Crawly cocked her head slightly, bending over the crumpled form of a rather handsome man. He was deathly pale though, as if Death's fingertips had brushed him, yet not quite gotten a good hold on him. He was wrapped up in a white horse blanket, his chest rising and falling slowly, his face carrying the lines of the years that dragged on.

Miss Crawly was no stranger to such fine lines. Her own face was starting to wither amongst the wrinkled skin, her blue eyes losing their luster behind sagging lids. Her small mouth was taunt and drawn in a hard line, her old bones becoming weaker. Her white, brittle hair was pinned high on her head, growing finer every day. But she carried herself with grace, with pride, giving anyone she met a glorified moment of seeing the beauty she had once been.

She had been a very pretty girl. Bright eyes, observant and calm. Long, red locks that shone like the glossy feathers of a robin's belly. She had once been the eye of every man, the prize of many suitors. But, as time goes on, such beauty begins to dry up, and all that is left is an outer shell harboring the inner beauty that very few look to find.

The man before her moved, a groan escaping a pair of fine lips. She jumped, startled, his movement ripping her from her day dream.

"Shhh," Miss Crawly cooed, running a hand down a pale cheek, "It's alright. You're going to be alright now." The dark lashes fluttered, exposing a pair of eyes the color of onyx. A color so abnormally dark that it seemed to cast shadows about the man's face.

His face turned up to her as she cupped one of his cheeks, the other hand feeling his forehead. He was running a fever. It was no surprise though. The man had been stuck in the rain for God-only-knows how long. He was drenched, his thin form shivering.

"C-c-cold..." He murmured. She offered a weak smile, patting his head much like you pat a child. He stared at her, his gaze feverish. His eyes questioned her, yet there was something...thankful behind them. And from the looks of it, the man wasn't very good at showing gratitude. He seemed much too dark a being.

"My name is Miss Crawly, good sir. Janice Crawly." She introduced herself. He stared at her for a long time, drinking in her features, studying her face. It was rather uncomfortable, she had to admit. He seemed to memorizing every curve, every detail, every _line_ of her face in those dark depths. be

"Todd," He finally said, his face impassive, "Sweeney Todd."

"Well, Mr. Todd, you're in good hands now. We'll have you on your feet in not time." Janice reassured. He cocked his head slightly, suddenly frowning.

"We? Who is "we" Miss Crawly?" He asked hazily, his mind still a bit...out of sorts. She smiled gently, padding the blanket, wrapping it a bit tighter.

"Please, Mr. Todd. Call me Janice," She offered, "And by we, I mean my precious servant and driver Mr. Geoffrey Pickard."

"Your...driver?"

"Why yes, the man who helped save your life." Janice said, watching as sudden memories flooded Sweeney's face. He nodded, turning his head to the side and coughing horribly.

"Oh, you poor dear." Janice sighed, rubbing his shoulder. He jerked a bit, yanking his body from her hand. She froze, staring at her hand and then to Sweeney, slightly surprised at his movement. Janice held her hand out to the air for a moment, and then drew it back to her lap. She waited patiently, silently wringing her hands as she did so.

"Sorry..." He apologized, eyeing her sadly. Janice's brow creased, her face confused.

"No need to be. It's not right for a lady to touch a man without such permission of the gentleman first," Janice apologized, "It is my own fault. Do forgive me." Sweeney stared at her, raising his eyebrows. He looked as though he didn't understand, and then quietly,

"Accepted."

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Geoffrey Pickard didn't like the man already. There was something odd, something _familiar _about the man. Something scary. As if he had seen him not to long ago. Yet he couldn't put his finger on it. The rain drove down hard, the lantern beside him swaying as the horse clopped down the road. He kept the pace slow now, the silver rain dancing before him. 

"_They say a man, even broken and beat,_

"_Can always harm, even off his own feet._

"_It's what they never say, that hurts the most,_

"_When all disappears, like an ancient ghost._

"_To see such darkness in a man's eyes,_

"_Shows the Devil is churning, withering in lies._

"_Is such is this man, broken and beat,_

"_For I know he can harm me, even off his own feet..._" Geoffrey sang, his voice drowned out by the rain. The horse drove on, cantering through the muddy cobblestone, his hooves seeming to drive the beat of his melody.

"_Such torrents of blood, gushing down to my feet,_

"_For he plays the Devil's music, to my defeat._

"_Says God to the angels, on such a terrible day,_

"_The Devil is back, and in this man, he lays._" Geoffrey pulled on the reigns, slowing the speed of his horse even more. He could see the light of their home, both his and Janice's. 'Always leave the light on the front porch on, Mr. Pickard,' Janice had ordered, 'So as we can always find our way home.'

"Welcome home." Geoffrey muttered, slowing the horse to a stop. The mare whinnied thankfully, its flanks shivering from the chill. 'Best get her warm and head in me-self.' Geoffrey thought tiredly. Suddenly Janice's voice called from the cabby window.

"Mr. Pickard! Please help me get Mr. Todd inside the house! You know very well I cannot do it!" She rolled the cabby window back up. With a small groan of defeat, Geoffrey circled around back, and opened the passenger door. The man, now being called Mr. Todd by Janice, was trying his hardest to sit up.

"Take it easy now," Geoffrey urged, taking the man by the upper arm, "There we go lad. Take it slow." He helped him down onto the ground, mud soaking both their pant ends.

"Take him inside. Get him some clothes, and put him to bed," Janice ordered, stepping from the cart and lifting the hem of her dress, "He's sick." She strode through the rain, taking a key from her sash and jamming it in the front door. She twisted, jiggling it a bit and threw open the door, gliding easily inside.

"Aye, yes Missus Crawly. Come along Mr. Todd, let's get you inside." Geoffrey encouraged, taking the man by the waist.

"Sweeney Todd, sir. The name's Sweeney Todd." Sweeney offered a small smile, somehow insanely wicked upon his features. For the most horrid moment, Geoffrey wanted to let go of Sweeney. He wanted to run away, into the house, locking all the windows and doors. He wanted to leave this Mr. Sweeney Todd in the rain and mud, hopefully to die of exposure, or something or other. There was something evil about him, something sinister...

And then it passed. Geoffrey gave a great grin.

"Alright then, Mr. Sweeney Todd. You're in good hands now, trust me," Geoffrey chuckled, "Missus Crawly is a good woman. And she makes the most wicked apple pie, I'll tell you that." Geoffrey laughed, and Sweeney gave low chuckle, shifting forward a few steps.

"Wicked you say?" Sweeney asked. A twinkle danced in Geoffrey's eyes.

"Only the best."

"I do love the wicked."

"Then I'm sure you'll be quite content Mr. Todd."

"I'm hoping for the same."

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And chapter three is DONE! Wicked, eh? Just Sweeney's style... 


	4. Chapter 4

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: More sining in this one! Wo0t! Go musicals! By the way, because Christmas is tomorrow, I highly doubt I'll be on...sorry. So consider this your early Holiday gift! Love ya!

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Chapter Four 

"Here you go Mr. Todd," Geoffrey sat Sweeney in the guest room, easing the man gently onto the bed, "I do hope you'll find everything alright here while you get better." Sweeney looked at the man, arching a brow. From the looks of it there was already some light coming back to the man's eyes. Still no color to the cheeks, although this did not surprise him. Sweeney seemed pale by nature.

"Did you get Mr. Todd in bed Mr. Pickard?" Janice came into the room, her dress swishing. In her arms she held a bundle of clothes that looked rather old.

"Yes Missus Crawly." Geoffrey replied. He took a step back, as Janice shooed him slightly with her hand.

"Start the fire Mr. Pickard, if you please. We don't want our Mr. Todd getting a worse chill than he has, now do we?" Janice laughed a bit, placing the clothes down on the bedspread. She sat down beside him, seeming to produce a bowl of water and a sponge from thin air.

"And when you're done with that, please go fetch me some antibiotics." Janice said, her eyes never leaving Sweeney's gaze. Sweeney instantly thought she was talking to him. He made a move to get up, hesitant. She gave him an incredulous look that melted into a silly smile.

"Oh no, not you dear! Mr. Pickard," Janice informed, grabbing Sweeney's wrist and sat him on the bed once more. Sweeney's lips parted in a silent 'O' of realization.

"Come now, let's clean you up. When we're done, you'll change into these clothes." Janice said, pointing to the stack of clothes. Sweeney eyed them without a word, and said nothing as Janice gripped his chin in her palm, and twisted his head to one side. She made a "tsk, tsk" noise.

"Gotta clean you up." she said sweetly. Soaking the sponge, she squeezed it, excess water slapping around noisily from its body, much like a dog lapping at a water bowl. It was unusually cold water. Or at least that was the conclusion Sweeney came to. Then again, his senses were still realigning themselves. So yes, perhaps it was just him.

The sponge dabbed at his cheek, smearing the dark liquid down his face. She wiped it away hurriedly with a towel and easily continued. Sweeney made a face every now and then as the sponge traced over a particularly more tender area. Janice would offer a soft apology, Sweeney would say nothing, as if nothing had happened to begin with, and so went the cycle.

Geoffrey watched them, his face blank. He waited by the fire, listening to the crackle of the fresh logs. Then, almost reluctantly, he left Janice with Sweeney. He was not a brilliant man, but he was not stupid...and he could feel Sweeney's eyes watch his every movement until he disappeared through the door.

"So tell me about yourself Mr. Todd." Janice tried for conversation as Geoffrey left the room. His incessant watching was quite bothersome. Sweeney frowned at the floor.

"Not much to say." He replied.

"Well surely you have some kind of reason to be out in that storm?"

"None that I can particularly recall, no."

"Oh how dreary." Janice sighed.

"Dreary," Sweeney chuckled, smirking, "I suppose you could say that." The room lapsed into silence again, the only sounds were of the sponge being squeezed and dipped. Several times Janice opened her mouth to ask a question, only to have her jaw clamp shut with an audible snap.

It took several tries to speak for Janice to finally come to terms that her inability was not that she was prodding his privacy and being disrespectful, but rather because she was scared. But she was a proud woman, with a proud heritage, and she was not going to brought down by some kind of _childish_ fear.

So she began to hum. A sweet tune, the kind of melody that would accompany the arrival of spring, or the flowers blossoming on a fine summer's day. Sweeney made no objection to it, and so she kept at it, adding in words every now and then.

"_T'was a fine day, back when I was young,_

"_T'was a fine day, with songs that should be sung._

"_The sun was high, and the moon was sleeping,_

"_People sang, no longer weeping._

"_T'was a very pretty day, back when I was young,_

"_What seemed so long ago, with songs that should be sung._

"_T'was a fine day-_" Janice halted as Sweeney suddenly stepped in. His voice was darker, far more haunting than hers. It sang with such a sweet sorrow that she had never quite heard before.

"_**Will **be a fine day, when the world stops abusing._

"_**Will **be a fine day, when others stop their using._

"_**Will **be a fine day, when I know just what I am._

"_It __**will **__be a fine day, to find that I am damned._" Janice threw the sponge into the bowl, it making a wet plopping sound as it hit the water. She stood, carrying the bowl to the nightstand. As soon as she no longer held it, she turned to him, hands on her hips. Opening her mouth, she sang to him once more, a defiant gleam in her eyes,

"_Tis a fine day, with horrid people even here._

"_It is something we must live through, no matter what we fear._

"_Tis a fine day, if I might add,_

"_Nothing's ever perfect, so don't make me laugh._" Sweeney glared at her, his face darkening considerably. Although his weight could not hold him, he leaned towards her from the bed.

"_What fine day, may I ask, do you see?_

"_For now I must say, that your sight is quite weak._

"_Fine day, you say, all dreamy and quite sweet,_

"_You are mistaken, for this foul rot reeks._

"_I wish I had your eyes, to see such a day,_

"_And now, as you stand there, what have you to say?_" Sweeney growled melodiously. Janice stood there, her lips now a tight line. After a moment she sighed, raising her arms in defeat and slapping them down to her sides.

"Nothing I suppose." The song was gone from her voice. It was now rigid and slightly angered. Sweeney said nothing, dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Forgive me, Janice," he apologized, "My mind is out of sorts lately. I fear I do not know much of what is happening to me." Janice stared at him for a long while and then heaved another sigh.

"One can expect so," She reassured, not daring to step closer, "Come, time for bed. You must be exhausted," She rolled her hand in a small gesture towards the bed, "Dress yourself and get settled. I'll return to make sure you're alright." She gave a swift curtsy, and left, he heels clicking rapidly. Sweeney looked down at his hands.

"_**Will **be a fine day, when the world stops abusing._

"_**Will** fine day, when others stop their using._

"_**Will **be a fine day, when I know just what I am._

"_It __**will **__be a fine day, to find that I am damned._" He repeated softly. He reached for the clothes, feeling them within his grasp. They _were_ old. Not ancient, just unworn for a long time. Using the edge of the bed for balance, Sweeney lifted himself to his feet. He stripped leisurely, easing his dirtied and wet clothes off his body. They slipped to the floor in silence.

Sweeney stood in the middle of the room, naked, the clothes in his hands. There was a mirror that reflected him above the fire place. He did not dare look, not yet. He was too...off guard to be looking at his form right now. He slid the clothes on, his legs shaking as he sat back down. The exhaustion was once more darkening his vision. He was tired.

And as he slowly slipped away, Sweeney couldn't help but smile at the orange and red patterns the fire created across the walls...like the crimson designs of freshly spilt blood.

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Happy Holidays! Thanks so much for all your reviews! 


	5. Chapter 5

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: Huge thanks to my new beta-reader, Harmonizing Dichotomy! Love you hon! 

**IMPORTANT NEWS**: We'll be getting into the actual plot soon, so hang in there...the demon's gotta rest! Expect it either in the next chapter or two! It will get gorier (because Sweeney Todd **_is _**Sweeney Todd) and I may have to chage the rating as we go along...

Enjoy!

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Chapter Five 

Janice stepped quietly into the room wearing a long white night gown. Her head was clad in a kerchief; a candle in her hands lit up the room. Shadows flickered across the wall, the warmth from the fireplace adding a nice touch.

Sweeney had fallen asleep above the covers, half his legs hanging off the end of the bed. One hand lay across his stomach, the other resting behind his head supportively. Janice approached slowly, careful not to awaken him. Raising the candle, she smiled. Such a lovely man. Especially now that he was clean, dried, and in fresh clothes.

He reminded her very much of her child from many years ago, now gone, just like his father. That was most likely the reason she didn't get as snippy with him when they argued...

Oh who was she kidding...it was exactly the reason she didn't get all hard on him. A mother can never stay angry at her child forever. Never.

Janice reached out, brushing dark locks from Sweeney's brow. His lips frowned quite suddenly, making her freeze. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned his head away from her. Janice kept her fingers hovering. She was well aware why she froze. Part was from Sweeney's movement, the other was the feel of his skin.

It was cold.

Hardly like her child at all. Her child had been warm and cozy. Drawing her hand away, she placed the candle on the night stand. She turned to Sweeney once more, and gently shook his shoulder. His eyes snapped open as if he had been awake the entire time. Swallowing the yelp, Janice gave him a small smile.

"If I could lift you, I would," she started, "Let's get you under the covers." Sweeney sat up, scowling.

"Can you stand?" Janice asked. Sweeney stared at her. She waited. Then, rather slowly, he nodded.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help Mr. Todd." Janice tittered as he stood, his back hunched as he held onto the edge of the bed. He said nothing, remaining quiet, the shadows flickering about his face as they did on the walls. Janice yanked the sheets back, folding them down as she did so.

"Hop in." She said, watching Sweeney intently as he lay down. She pulled the sheets to his chest, feeling like the mother she had been so many years before.

"There you go Mr. Todd. I'll leave you to rest now," Janice said, offering one last smile, "I'm just down the hall. Holler if you need anything." Janice knew the man could go into horrid seizures or fall out of bed and break him arm, but he would not call for help or assistance. Already she knew this. Sweeney Todd was an independent man. A man she was very interested in getting to know.

"Sleep well Mr. Todd." There was no reply.

Geoffrey Pickard had always started his routine the same. He would wake at exactly six every morning. He would dress in his Sunday best, even if it wasn't a Sunday. Miss Crawly insisted he always look well dressed. Then he would go out to the stalls where two mares, out of the three there had once been, stood waiting for their first meal of the day. Then, when that was done, Geoffrey would head back inside and retire to the kitchen where he would get breakfast started. He and Janice would eat with few words passed to the other.

Next, depending on Janice's schedule for the day, whether she wanted to stay in or go out, Geoffrey's routine would circle about it. After the day started to waste away, Geoffrey would feed the horses for the last time and head back to the kitchen. He would prepare dinner, and they would eat together once again and then take their separate ways. Janice would go to her room and get ready for bed, always asleep before the clock struck nine. Geoffrey, on the other hand, would read until ten and then he would head for bed.

The routine would repeat the next day.

Which was why Geoffrey wondered how, when he saw Sweeney standing in the hallway, just one man could screw it all up. Again, as Sweeney stumbled slightly from his room, Geoffrey was struck with an odd sense of familiarity. Shaking it away, Geoffrey closed the door to his room and leaned against the frame.

The horses could wait.

Sweeney half walked, half wobbled his way down the hall. He knew Geoffrey had been watching. He was not oblivious. He smirked faintly when he heard the door shut. That was good. Sweeney was not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.

The hallway led into a small kitchen. There was long counter, several decorated mugs and plates stacked upon its surface, a sink harbored inside it. Four cabinets hung above it and beside a rather large wood stove. In the middle of the room was a table that could seat two...but now had a third chair near it. For him? Possibly.

A window was cracked open above the sink, revealing a clouded sky and a silver orb that was the sun behind the gray. Trudging over to it, Sweeney looked out, the view...startling him. It was a graveyard. A vast one at that. Several headstones, all different shapes and sizes, filled the hillside. Fog weaved through them giving them their natural haunted look that is depicted in so many stories.

A crash jerked Sweeney from his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder. Janice stood in the doorway, a frightened expression on her face, a hand clutched over her heart, and a mug of what smelled like warm milk now in pieces on the floor.

"Good Lord Mr. Todd! What are you doing out of bed!" Janice huffed. Her face had paled considerably and Sweeney thought if he had scared her anymore than he had, she would've gone into cardiac arrest. She breathed deeply, regaining her composure steadily.

"You shouldn't be up and about! You're still sick!" Janice fretted, bending over with a grunt as she snatched at the broken pieces. Sweeney stared at her curiously, and strutted over, helping her with the pieces.

"Oh don't bother yourself with this! Get back to bed," Janice said. Sweeney made no move to go back to the room. Janice gather all the shards in her hands and deposited them on the table. She looked at him, arching an ancient eyebrow.

"Go on now! Back to bed," Janice shooed her hands at him, "You may think you feel fine, but that's only because your body's feeding off the energy you gathered from sleeping. You'll get worse if you don't get in bed. Now." She pointed to the hallway.

"I'm quite fine." Sweeney said darkly. He didn't like other people telling him what to do. His finger twitched, the sudden urge for his blades quite overwhelming. This woman couldn't tell him what to do! No one could tell him what to do! He-

His legs gave a sudden tremble. Sweeney caught the frame of the doorway linking the kitchen and hallway. He clutched it tightly, his knuckles going white. Janice glared at him, hands on her hips.

"You are stubborn, aren't you?" she huffed. Sweeney glowered at the floor, hating himself for feeling so weak. For needing help from a seventy-some odd year old woman. It was disgraceful.

"Come along Mr. Todd," Janice sighed, gripping his upper arm tightly and tugging, "If you're that eager to voice your thoughts, you can do it from the bed. We'll talk there. Get to know each other." Sweeney had no want to get to know this woman. She was forcing him to do things he didn't want to do, and he didn't like it. Not at all.

"I'll have Mr. Pickard get you something to eat, and then we'll talk," Janice sat him back down on the bed, "I'm looking forward to getting to know you." Sweeney bit back the words in his throat, trying to hiss, "I'm not."

At the most, he wanted her throat bare before his, wrinkled skin and all beneath his fingers. He wanted a blade in the other hand. He wanted to rake the edge straight across her throat, watch the blood spurt forward crazily, coating the walls and ceiling, including himself. He wanted to chase after the bigger man, watch him squirm, cry out for mercy. And he wanted that man's blood to be spilt, to stain the carpet and curtains and walls. That's what Sweeney wanted.

And knowing our dear Mr. Sweeney Todd, he always gets what he wants.

* * *

Like I said before, the plot is coming, and things will, of course, get gorier. So stay tuned! 


	6. Chapter 6

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: In this chapter, we're going to delve into the past of Janice Crawly. Learn a little more about her child from the previous chapter, and some about her husband.

We're also going to dig into Sweeney's mind a bit, and watch the memories flood back in...

Also, once again, big thanks to Harmonizing Dichotomy for being my Beta-Reader!

* * *

Chapter Six

"I can't see it." Sweeney said flatly. Janice pursed her lips, glaring at him. It was the first time even the smallest amount of fear of him hadn't affected her.

"Well, you don't look like the kind of person who's everyone's cup of tea yourself, Mr. Todd." Janice snapped.

"That's the way I like it. Keep them on their toes." Sweeney said quietly, eyeing the plate of food on the night table beside him. He hadn't touched a thing and he didn't plan to, either. Janice stared at him thoughtfully, her mind lost in a daydream.

"Yes. I was the woman every man wanted to get their hands on." Janice sighed, her fingers running through her hair. She could remember when it had been a lovely red. Now age had turned it a milky white. Sweeney frowned, his brow creasing.

"I don't see it." He repeated sourly. He wanted to get up. Now. He wanted to get out of this house and haunt the very Fleet Street that had...

"Killed me." The words seemed foreign in Sweeney's mouth. Killed him? He had been dead, hadn't he? Yes...or atleast he thought he had been. He had clawed his way out of the ground! He had dragged himself through a graveyard for Christ's sake! He had been dead!

"What's that dear?" Janice asked. Sweeney looked at her. He waved his hand absently, brushing her off. His mind was lost within a void of unanswerable questions. What had happened to him? If he had been dead, how did he get back here? Was he suffering some sort of cruel punishment? What was-

"Now, your turn." She said, tearing Sweeney from his thoughts. She was smiling, and something in her smile said she wanted to know everything about him...but keep her own story to herself. She was hiding away from him but exposing him. He glowered at her.

"Nothing much to say."

"Oh don't give me that again!" Janice said shrilly. Sweeney looked down at his hands, his eyes seeing the blade that he wished was there. His fingers curled into a fist, the veins standing out in the pale flesh.

"How about...I ask you something and you answer it?"

"I can't guarantee an answer." Sweeney replied, not meeting her eyes. Janice shifted a bit, getting more comfortable. She seemed satisfied...for now that was. Placing a finger aside of her nose, she pondered a few questions.

"Do you have a trade?" She asked. It was a start. Sweeney looked up at her now, his eyes flashing.

"I did."

"What did you do Mr. Todd?" Janice asked. 'So many things, Janice. Oh so many things...' Sweeney's voice cooed in his head.

"I was a barber of sorts." Sweeney replied. Janice looked delighted at this.

"Oh I will be telling Mr. Pickard of that! He's been needing a good shave for a long time now. You wouldn't mind would you?"

"Never," Sweeney replied, suddenly feeling an overwhelming eagerness, "Of course you have the necessary tools, yes?"

"Of course! I've been waiting for a day like this! Mr. Pickard really does need..." Janice babbled on. Sweeney no longer heard her. In his mind's eye, Sweeney could see the gentlemen who had come to him, trusted him for a shave, and had never been heard from again. He could see the bloody remnants being dumped down the chute as they slipped from the chair. He could hear the crack of their neck when they hit the cement floor below. If they had not died when their throats had been slit, then a broken neck sure as Hell finished them off.

He remembered the woman...Mrs. Lovett. Yes, Mrs. Lovett. And Toby too. The little chap who helped Mrs. Lovett run the restaurant. Helped Mrs. Lovett serve her famous meat pies. Sweeney nearly chuckled at the memory. The meat pies. He remembered dancing with Mrs. Lovett as they thought on how to dispose of the body of a Mr. Adolfo Pirelli...and how she had spoken about the fat on a man's body, and how _that_ had turned into a full blown operation. Get a customer to the barber, slit his throat, dump the body down the chute, grind up the meat, bake bread about it, and serve it to the awaiting buyers. It was supposed to be a never ending cycle...and it had ended.

The memories started to blur from there. Sweeney could see a crazy woman in his work space. She asked him if she had ever seen him before, and without another word, he had slit her throat, and plunged her through the door. Then, as luck would have it, the judge, the pig who had taken away his wife and his daughter and his life appeared. And oh how Sweeney lied, talking about to the man about his daughter, saying she wanted the judge. Sat down the man in his barber's chair, said he needed a shave. The judge trusted him. And with a swift reminder of the past, of the man named Benjamin Barker whose life had been deprived of his only two loves, the blade sank into the judge's throat. Over and over again the blade cut into the flesh, blood spewing forth, soaking his clothes, splattering his face, and discoloring his hair.

And Sweeney remembered a boy. A rather girlish looking boy that had come from the trunk after the judge's body had been thrown away. He was so close to cutting away the child's life when Mrs. Lovett screamed. He raced away, telling the girly boy to never forget him. Sweeney ran down to the burner to see Mrs. Lovett backing away from the body of the judge, her face taught with fear. When he asked her what was wrong, she replied with a shaky voice everything was fine, for him to help her put the bodies in the oven. He had reached to help her, when he froze...

The crazy woman. Her hat had fallen from her head revealing locks as gold as the sun, albeit dirty. And the horror struck him then and there. He collapsed by the woman's body, fingers brushing away loose strands. Oh, it was Lucy. His dear and ever so precious Lucy. But...but hadn't Mrs. Lovett told him she was dead?

Sweeney remembered very little after this. He remembered heat. A lot of it. And Mrs. Lovett's shrieks. He remembered crying, tears flowing freely as he tried to apologize to his dead lover, Mrs. Lovett's body burning in the oven. He was crying to someone who could no longer hear him. There was a sudden smell of sewer rank and he was no longer alone. There was a flash of pain across his throat and then red. Red everywhere. The boy...the boy...the boy...

The thought of the pain across his neck brought Sweeney out of his clutter of memories and back to reality. His hand went to his neck, fingers brushing the skin. A mirror. He needed a mirror.

"Something wrong Mr. Todd?" Janice inquired. By the look on her face, she had been unaware of his detachment to the world. Sweeney shook his head, well aware his hand was shaking. There was...a scar? Yes. There was a scar beneath his fingers. The blade had cut him, made him bleed...and now...all that was left was a scar.

"Well, alright then. Let's get back to the questions," Janice said, "Now, do you have a family Mr. Todd?" The word family struck a tender spot inside of him. Sweeney did not want to answer that, which was why he was surprised when he did...with a nod.

"Really? Where are they?"

"Gone." Sweeney looked out the window to the gray sky. Janice's face fell.

"Ah I see. Tell me about them."

"No." Sweeney said sharply.

"Why not?"

"No." Sweeney repeated.

"I had a family too you know. A husband. A son." Janice sighed, placing her chin in her palm, "You remind me a lot of my son, you know that?" Sweeney looked at her, arching a brow.

"Why do you say you _had_ one?" Sweeney asked, curious.

"That's a long story," Janice sighed, "My husband, Daniel Crawly, was a good man. Had a good job himself, the caretaker of the graveyard. He made a good amount of money. He wasn't rich of course. But he had enough to get by. I never thought I would fall for a man like him. I was quite...self-centered about myself back then." Janice made an irritated face, her eyes slightly clouded over. It seemed as if she were seeing herself from back then, and whatever was happening...she didn't like it.

"He chased me quite a bit, much more than other men. I, of course, not wanting to be "embarrassed", usually insulted him, slapped him, spit at him," Janice laughed suddenly, "But the man wouldn't quit. From his perspective, I guess you could say he thought I was playing hard to get.

"Then, this new girl came to town. A pretty one at that. Long black hair, big ol' blue eyes. A little beauty. And just like that," Janice snapped her fingers, "Daniel's attention went from me to her. I wanted to say I was glad to have him off my back, but that meant I would be lying.

"I was jealous. It was odd because I had never been jealous of another person...ever. Until her."

"What was her name?" Sweeney asked curiously.

"Carry Anne. I'll admit she was pretty. But I...I was too green-eyed to see it at the time. I couldn't understand why I suddenly craved his attention. Perhaps it was because he had paid so much attention to me in the first place. I remember, after thinking it over, how much I had truly been delighted in his praises and tailing. No man had done it like he did. He made me feel so good about myself, so warm and...and happy.

"So I went after him. I was afraid I was too late at first, that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. But there he was, in the graveyard, on his nightshift, like always. I was so happy I wanted to cry. I threw myself at him, quite literally too. I told him everything. I told him I missed him, that I needed him, that I was sorry, that I...that I lo...loved him." A blush stained those wrinkled cheeks. She looked like a teenager with a crush. It was rather...disgusting to see an elderly woman blush. Yet, Sweeney felt his heart tear a bit at the words. He had felt that way about Lucy. Wanting to always be with her, wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, wanting to love her like no other man had ever before...

"We eloped that spring. It was a grand wedding. And I was just so in love with the man. I never saw Carry Anne after that, if I might add...and I was happy. Truly happy for what felt like the first time in my life. And it got all the better when I found out I was pregnant following our third anniversary. I was with carrying the child of the man I loved, and nothing was greater." Sweeney's heart twisted again. Joanna. His own daughter. A small babe when he had last seen her, riding on her mother's hips, a smile on her chubby face. Never had he felt such a great amount of emotions for such a small person...

"But Daniel...I feel like a fool as I look back on it. He told me he loved me, but that this child that I was bearing...he didn't want it. He suggested that I get an abortion or we go to the local gardener who grew herbs of all kinds, including those that were said to cause miscarriages. He looked me straight in the eye and said that we could be happy, just with each other. But I knew what he meant...

"It was a choice between him or the child." Janice was wringing her hands together.

"And whom did you choose?" Sweeney asked. He wasn't all that interested in the woman's story, but maybe if she talked long enough, her tongue would tire and she would go away. Leave him alone.

"I chose the child. Because if I couldn't get Daniel to love me for real, I knew my child would. We got an anullment two months before the baby was born. He packed up his things the next day, or most of them. He threw them in a trunk and walked out the door. Took our only stallion, leaving us with two mares," A curt shake of the head, "And he...left. He left me the house and everything that he didn't take. I suppose he would've felt guilty if he left a pregnant woman out on the streets. The man did have a conscience, even in the end.

"I never saw him again. The last I remember was him briefly waving as he rode out over the hill. The nerve...the next day a man came to the house, asking for the graveyard caretaker. There was a burial that needed to be taken care of. It was then that I realized, when Daniel had left me everything he could not take, that included his job.

"That was around the time I hired Mr. Pickard. He was a good man, always has been. He took care of everything, the funeral, the digging, the shifts, all of it. Up until my boy was eight. I insisted that I help. And he let me." Janice heaved a great sigh, her shoulders sagging.

"What about the boy?" Sweeney asked, leaning forward a bit. Something uncertain flickered across her face.

"Born without a hitch. Terribly painful though. The most pain I've ever felt in my life. But, by God, it was worth it. He was such a lovely boy...looked a lot like his father, which was something I could've lived without. But I loved him none the less. Had dark curls like his father, but my blue eyes. As he grew, he came to have his father's build. Strong, broad-shouldered, but thin. Quite the slim boy. I named him Jared. Jared Anthony Crawly.

"He helped Mr. Pickard and I in the cemetery more and more as he grew. He eventually took the job on himself and Mr. Pickard became a stay-home servant and tended to my needs there. I never liked Jared out in the graveyard. I hated it when he was alone. I always felt something was going to go wrong...I always did..." Janice bit her lower lip. Sweeney cocked his head. She was holding something back, something terrible, something sad...something he actually wanted to _hear_.

"What happened to him?" Sweeney asked, spurring her on, his sick interest taking over.

"I was right. A mother is always right. I hated him out there by himself...he was only twenty three. Courting a lovely girl. He was still a boy," Tears started to gather in the old eyes, "He was doing his job. Digging a fresh grave for a body being prepped for tomorrow's service. They said he tripped when he was working, either over the pile of dirt beside him or...or a rock. He fell into the grave, head first. Snapped his neck. Died instantly...

"I knew something was wrong when he didn't come home. I refused to worry myself, giving him time. I fell asleep waiting for him and when he wasn't home in the morning...I knew. I knew right then and there he was gone. They found his body later that day and in a week I had to bury my own son. No mother should have to bury her child...no parent should have their child in a grave before them. It's just...not...right." Janice wiped hurriedly at the tears that were spilling from her eyes. Her makeup was starting to smudge, the eyeliner leaving streaks on her hands and cuffs. Her wrinkled hands were starting to tremble.

"A wife and a daughter." Sweeney suddenly said and Janice looked at him, cocking her head. She gave him a confused look.

"Lucy was my wife. Joanna...my daughter." Sweeney sighed, his hands fisting in the sheets. Janice nodded, feeling like a mess. She waited for more, but Sweeney said nothing. An uneasy silence lapsed between them. And then Sweeney said something that startled her.

"I don't understand why I'm here." He spat. She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

"I'm taking care of you." She said flatly. Sweeney shook his head, dark curls flying.

"So much time...gone. I don't know why I'm here. It's impossible...but I'm _HERE_."

"Mr. Todd, I'm not quite sure what you're inquiring."

"I should be dead. I should be long gone."

"Oh don't say that!"

"You don't understand!" Sweeney shouted. The blood was pounding in his ears and his temper was starting to boil.

"Than help me to do so!" Janice cried back, standing. Her face remained impassive. And for the first time, Sweeney was unable to read what another person's expression said. He couldn't get past the exterior of her face. He couldn't dip into her mind and see what she was thinking. It irked him all the more and his face was starting to get hot with anger. Closing his eyes, Sweeney took a deep breath, trying to bring down his hostility.

"Mr. Todd-"

"Janice. I have a question."

"Yes?"

"I have an old friend of mine who died."

"Oh I'm sorry..."

"The year, if I try to recall that...time, was 1796. What is it today?"

"Why, Mr. Todd, it's May 18th, 1806."


	7. Chapter 7

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you all like it so much! It is officially my most reviewd and most popular stroy! Thanks a bunch and I'll see you all in 2008!

* * *

Chapter Seven

"Ten years..." It didn't sound right. More so, it just didn't sound possible.

"Was he a good friend?" Janice asked, standing and brushing the seat of her dress. Sweeney looked up at her, quirking a brow.

"The one who died." Janice said. Sweeney gave a small "Ah..." and nodded.

"Well, I'm quite sorry about it. Losing someone we love hurts, doesn't it?" Janice asked. Sweeney nodded once again. His mind was somewhere else. Somewhere lost. How could ten years pass? So much time was gone. What about Lucy? Where was she? Did the same thing happen to her? Something in the back of Sweeney's mind clicked and fell apart. Something had happened to him and now he was here. But Lucy...there was no way the same thing could've happened to her as well...could it?

Sweeney knew, before he had even entirely convinced himself that this was true. Lucy was dead, and dead she would stay. And so that left...his daughter. Joanna. Was she still out there? And if so, where was she? What if she-

"I have another question, Mr. Todd." Janice said, taking a handkerchief from her sash and dabbing at her eyes. Sweeney didn't bother to answer but looked up at the elderly woman blankly.

"You said you were a barber, yes?" She asked. Sweeney nodded.

"You wouldn't mind if maybe I told a few of my friends who I think are in dire need of a shave...would you?" Janice asked curiously. The strangest light came into Sweeney's eyes and then disappeared. A smile quirked at the edges of his lips.

"Perhaps even more than just a few friends?" Sweeney inquired. Janice stared at him for a moment, a look that said she was trying look inside his head. It apparently failed as she gave a gentle smile.

"Of course. Let's wait a few days, get your strength up, and you can start on Mr. Pickard." Janice said casually, listing off the things on her bony fingers, "And if you're good enough, maybe we can start a business here. Or somewhere about London."

"Do you doubt my skills Janice?" Sweeney asked carefully, watching the old woman shake her head quickly. He didn't take well to people doubting what he could do. A flash of crimson followed by sickening wet sounds filled his head. A delicious taste of rust and salt tingling his tongue followed. Sweeney's fingers twitched eagerly.

"Good. Because I can guarantee any man the closest shave he's ever gotten." Sweeney smiled wickedly.

"Of course you can dear," Janice said, all sugar and sweet, "I'll alert my friends right away." She started walking off when she stopped by the door, her fingers gripping the frame. Sweeney stared at her. She looked over her shoulder, her brow furrowed nervously.

"You won't...tell anyone of this little...breakdown I had, will you?" Janice bit her lower lip.

"Why?"

"I don't need people worrying about me more than they need to," Janice sighed, turning her face away, "I haven't spoken about my son in so long...have I told you that you-"

"Look like him? Yes. You've said that." Sweeney said flatly. Janice nodded, keeping her back to him. Her shoulders slumped.

"It's...rather odd, don't you think?" She whispered before disappearing. Sweeney sat there, his head cocked. He stared at where she had stood, so intently one would think that Janice might suddenly reappear right in that spot. Sweeney couldn't help but think about how..._crazy_ Janice sounded right then. Not crazy in that insane-friend kind of way. But absolutely out of her mind crazy.

The feeling lasted a second before it abruptly faded, leaving Sweeney to wonder if any such thing had occurred at all.

* * *

"I understand you wanted to see me Missus Crawly?" Geoffrey asked. Janice jumped spewing flour from the bread dough about the table. She cursed silently, wetting a towel and wiping away the excess powder. She looked at him and gave a thin, crooked smile.

"Ah, yes. Yes I did." Janice sighed. She rinsed her hands in the sink, taking the bucket sitting on the counter, that came from the well outside, and dumped the fresh water into the basin.

"What is it you need Miss?" Geoffrey asked. Janice brushed a strand of hair, as white as the flour she was rolling, from her eyes.

"You need a good shave." She said bluntly. Geoffrey raised his eyebrows, scowling. He ran a plump hand over his chin, fingers rubbing at the bristly moustache above his lip. He rather favored the facial hair. But he had to admit, he could feel the stubble already coming in even after shaving quickly that morning.

"I suppose I do. But you know there isn't anyone I trust with a barber's blade after all those-those murders up on Fleet Street!" Geoffrey retorted. Janice glared at him. It had been a dark time after the murders on Fleet Street. The ravenous barber, whom they called Benjamin Barker in the papers, slaughtered many with the help of a young woman by the name of Mrs. Nellie Lovett. Janice had eaten at her place once. _Once_ being the key word there. She never went back, but came home with a terrible stomach ache.

The name Benjamin Barker sounded familiar. Janice couldn't put a finger on it, but she felt she knew that name.

"Do you trust Mr. Todd?" Janice asked. Geoffrey shrugged slightly.

"I suppose. It's still strange we found him in the cemetery during a rain storm, don't you think?" Geoffrey pointed out. He'd been suspicious of the gentleman ever since they found him. But without actual evidence that Sweeney was involved in something strange, unlawful, or both, he couldn't do a damn thing. Janice sighed.

"Do you trust him or not Mr. Pickard?" Janice asked again. Geoffrey gave a stiff nod.

"Good. By the end of this week, you'll be given a fresh shave."

"By _him_?!"

"Yes, him. He's a barber...or rather _was_ a barber," Janice pointed to the sink, the gray murky water sloshing back and forth, "When I'm done, take the basin out, empty it and bring it back in." Geoffrey nodded, his face suddenly pale. Janice eyed him curiously and waved it off with a quick rolling gesture of the hand.

"When you're done with that," Janice started, drawing out a piece of paper out from her apron pocket, "I want you to find these people and tell them about Mr. Todd...about him being a barber." Geoffrey took the list from her and read it over. There were a few names he recognized and a few he didn't.

"And take these." Janice handed Geoffrey a stack of papers announcing Sweeney's stay at their home and a guaranteed close shave if they came. It listed their address along with a small fee for the shave. Geoffrey read it three times over before nodding silently and rolling them up and putting them in his pocket.

"Now go on. To work with you." Janice shooed him and turned back to the bread. In seconds the powder was up to her elbows and was decorating the front of her apron. Geoffrey lingered for a moment, unable to explain the terrible feeling that was seizing his heart. Then slowly, he turned and walked out.

* * *

By the time Geoffrey arrived home, the sun had long ago set and the shadows danced about him. By the time Geoffrey got home, the air was chilled to the temperature where frost's fingers spread out over the grass. By the time Geoffrey got home, the posters were up...and every person he had stopped to personally had agreed to show up sooner or later. And by the time Geoffrey got home, Sweeney was smiling so wickedly one would think his face had contorted into that of the devil himself...

* * *

Looks like Sweeney's going to be up to his old games and tricks again! Wait and see what happens! 


	8. Chapter 8

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: I want to let you all know, the math I do in this chapter is what I've made it! I have no idea if Sweeney was at the age I have him when he married to Lucy! Same goes for her!

I just didn't want to make him any older than fifty! lol

* * *

Chapter Eight

The first person to show up came much earlier than Janice wanted. Only two days after the posters had been put up. Still the time where she believed Sweeney needed to rest. He was an older gentleman, younger than Janice, in his mid-fifties with gray hair that still had brown locks here and there. He hunched when he stood but he had enough grace to tip his hat when Janice opened the door.

"Can I help you sir?" Janice asked. The man nodded, taking out a crinkled sheet from his pocket.

"I do believe I'm due for a shave." He handed the paper to Janice. She recognized it as one of the flyers.

"Well, um, come in. Please. Please come in." Janice took a step back, gesturing towards to the hallway indoors. The man thanked her and worked his way in.

* * *

Sweeney stood in front of the mirror that hung over the fire place, eyeing his reflection curiously. He hadn't changed much, or so he thought. The lines were heavier about his mouth, and when he furrowed his brow, the lines were deeper on his forehead. His skin seemed paler, or perhaps that was just him. 

Sweeney ran his fingers through his hair. It was coarse but thick, and the darkness of it was still rich. He ran the pads of his thumbs underneath his eyes, feeling the cheekbones and rubbed them gently over his eyelids. He traced his index finger down his nose and then over his lips, down his chin and then overlapped both hands around his neck. Beneath his palm, Sweeny could feel the scar. Stepping closer to the mirror, Sweeney angled his neck a bit and eyed the long, ragged white line across his throat. It didn't stand out as he had thought it might, but it was definitely something a person couldn't miss, much less not be curious about.

The reflection stared back him, gaunt but still quite handsome. 'Ten years...' the words echoed in his head. It _still_ didn't seem right. Inside his head, Sweeney did up the math. Those many years ago when he had been unjustly taken from his precious Lucy, he had been a young man. Twenty-one to be exact. Lucy had been nineteen. Then, rotting away in that damned prison for an unfair crime, Sweeney missed fifteen years of his life. He was thirty-six when he stepped out of that god-forsaken place.

And then, if he added on the ten more years, that made him forty-six. Or forty-five. Somewhere around there.

Sweeney's eyes left the mirror and went to the razors on the mantel. Janice had brought them in the day she had sent out Geoffrey to put up the flyers. He had said a simple thank you, put them on the nightstand and continued to talk to Janice until she left. As soon as the door shut, giving that reassuring click, Sweeney's hands were immediately on the box. There were six razors inside, one missing as Janice had taken Geoffrey's set and given them to Sweeney, each unsharpened and dull. He would have to change that. They had wooden handles that arched off into the blade. Sturdy and rather nice for a standard razor.

* * *

"Mr. Todd?" Janice knocked Sweeney's door, the gentleman stood patiently behind her. Sweeney answered the door at the third knock. He cocked his head at seeing the stranger. 

"Mr. Todd this is Darren James. He's your first customer." Janice said, stepping out of the way. The old man held out a hand. Sweeney stared at it for a moment, a numb feeling coursing through his system. His fingers twitched and he was suddenly shaking the man's hand.

"Hello sir. An honor to have you as my first." Sweeney smiled.

"I hear you gaurantee a man the closest shave he's ever had?" Darren chuckled and Sweeney nodded, btiting back a grimace. Janice stepped between them, cutting in sharply,

"But if you need to rest a little more Mr. Todd and, you know, set up for his arrival, we can-"

"No," Sweeney said flatly, "Please sir, come in." Sweeney opened the door wide, taking a step back to allow the man in. Darren gave him a comforting smile and stepped inside. Janice stood in the hallway, her face blank and unreadable, the only thing being slight disappointment in her eyes. she looked at Sweeney as if she were seeing something that even _he_ couldn't see inside himself.

"I'll be done with him shortly." Sweeney said. Janice kept staring, making him feel uncomfortable.

"May I...come in and watch?" She asked suddenly as he went to close the door. Sweeney shook his head.

"I prefer to work without viewers. I make exceptions for family members, but no others. My job is strictly between the customer and I." Sweeney said, carefully watching for the emotions flickering across Janice's face. Nothing. The woman nodded.

"I respect that. I do. Got to leave a man to his work," Janice sighed, her hands clasping together, "Do yell if you need..._help_ with something alright, Love?" Sweeney froze. The word "Love" made him inwardly cringe as Mrs. Lovett's shrieks, as she was incinerated into ashes, filled his head. But it was that feeling again that kept Sweeney rooted to the spot. That awful feeling that there was something out of place about Janice. Something wrong. Not normal. _Crazy_.

But just like before, it faded and was gone. Sweeney closed the door and turned to the man behind him. Darren was sitting in the kitchen chair Geoffrey had brought in earlier. The man was rather attractive although hunched over, which, Sweeney realized, would make shaving a bit difficult. Not that the man would really get to the end of his "shave". So maybe it wasn't a problem after all.

Excitement flooded Sweeney's body as he took his place behind the man. He looked about the room as he absent-mindedly sharpened the razor in the belt that he had strung to his belt loop. There was no carpet on the floor, which was a good thing. There were curtains though, and that would be a problem. He could easily yank them down and throw them away, give Janice an innocent smile (a look of disgust at the thought) as he told her sunlight would most likely speed up the pace of his healing.

And just like that, the problem was fixed. Well, _almost _fixed. There was still furniture. Sweeney gave up after a little while as Darren made an impatient noise and the blade sparkled in his fingers.

"Just a moment sir." Sweeney said, and took the cream he had also gotten from a rather reluctant Geoffrey. Placing it on the window sill, he yanked down the curtain, watching the material flow freely as the light hit it in waves...the idea struck so hard Sweeney nearly fell over. With a quick jerk, Sweeney had the curtain wrapped around the Darren's short frame.

"Lean your head back sir. Thank you." Sweeney was surprised when the man, although slowly, leaned back. No more problem there anymore. Good. So the furniture was the only thing...or seemed to be at the moment as Sweeney brushed the shaving cream along Darren's face. Something inside of him growled eagerly, and Sweeney had to control himself not to lash out viciously.

It was only then did Sweeney realize he had no way to get the body out of the room. He looked about. The window wasn't wide and he would most definitely be noticed by someone, even if it wasn't Janice or Geoffrey, if he were dragging a body out of the house.

"No, thank _you_ Mr. Todd" Darren said with a small smile and closed his eyes, tightening his lips as the brush ran over them, "I've been needing a decent shave for sometime. Without my wife, I haven't got a steady hand to help me when I do it myself."

"Where is your wife."

"Died long ago. Such a sad thing. Died giving birth to my daughter," Darren sighed, waiting to feel the edge of the blade, "She's all grown up now, sweet little thing. Sixteen and engaged. Gonna walk her down the aisle next spring." Sweeney smirked.

"Sure you will." Darren passed Sweeney a curious glance, but Sweeney pretended not to see it. The man shifted uncomfortably.

"So, uh, Mr. Todd. Do you have a family? A son? A daughter?" Did everyone need to know that?

"I had a wife. Dead now. My daughter...if only I knew." Sweeney sighed, the razor taking its first stroke along the side of the man's throat. He looked about the room again, the excitement climaxing, and his eyes caught onto the door that led to the bathroom across from them. Sweeney resisted the urge to cry out in joy.

Upon going through the bathroom, there was a back door that led out to the yard. There was a trench nearby where you would take the basin you bathed in and dump the dirty water away. Sweeney smiled at the door as if it were alive and could smile back. He thought for a moment that maybe it was. How ridiculous...

So that problem was solved like the rest. The only thing was, after the man was dead, what to do with the body? Sweeney decided he could think of that later. The body could retire to the trench until he came up with a better idea.

"Tell me, sir, does she look like her mother? Your daughter?" Sweeney asked, the man closed his eyes and nodded with a small smile.

"Has her build, face, and all. Such a lovely child."

"I'm quite sure." Sweeney frowned as the man cracked open an eye at him, raising a skeptical brow.

"I'm surprised that you staying with Missus Crawly." Darren sighed, angling his neck so Sweeney could get a better swipe at it.

"Why's that sir?"

"She's not exactly someone that associates well with people."

"Seems like she does."

"Behind closed doors I suppose."

"Is there something wrong with her?"

"Some say she's crazy. Say she killed her own son. I wouldn't be surprised to say the least." Darren shifted with a huff. Sweeney stopped, glaring at him. He didn't particularly like Janice but she had been so...nice (his face wrinkled at the word) to him that in some way he felt he had to defend her. Even if only just a little.

"No parent would do that."

"So goes what they all say before they -whiiiiiiik-!" Darren ran a thumb across his throat, spittle spraying from his mouth as he accented it with a rather gruesome noise. Sweeney chuckled darkly.

"Such an odd coincidence that you suggest such a movement Mr. James." Sweeney smiled wickedly.

"What's that mean?"

"It's really too bad, sir. But all I can say is that I need this. I've been waiting so long," Sweeney whispered, "If I'm going to find out exactly what happened to me, I might as well give myself some motivation, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry about your daughter."

"What about her?" Darren's face had gone a bright red with anger at the mention of his daughter. But within seconds, his face wasn't the only thing that was red. He reached around the man's neck, and with speed that could match lightening, Sweeney ran the blade across Darren's throat. The man didn't spurt blood like Sweeney had rather hoped, but he supposed it to be a good thing.

Darren convulsed sharply, Sweeney clamping a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady as he shook. Blood rushed down like a curtain from his neck, silent and gushing, making horrid, sloppy wet noises as it sloshed about. Crimson bloomed on the front of his shirt, and from the corners of him mouth, blood bubbled and spilled over, trickling down his chin and dripping to the floor in steady drops. The man shivered violently, his arms flailing a bit and legs thumping once or twice before he went rigid and then became still. Blood now cloaked the entire front of his shirt and was starting to gather on his pants.

Sweeney looked down at his arm where blood had stained the cuffs of his shirt. A glint of silver still shone from the scarlet-covered blade. With a satisfied smile, Sweeney reached down for the towel he _would've _used had our Mr. Darren James not been dead. Cleaning off the blade, Sweeney returned it to to it's box, the silver still marred with a bit of pink. Oh well. He would fix that later.

Turning to the body, Sweeney's devilish grin grew from ear to ear. He had done a damn good job.

"_**Will **__be a fine day, when I know just what I am._

"_It __**will **__be a fine day, to find that I am damned._"

* * *

Looks like we've got out first kill! And in the next we might have more!_ wink wink _Not only that, look forward to the next few chapters to where we delve deeper into Janice AND we meet someone later on that we've met before! 


	9. Chapter 9

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: I hope this will be a nice chapter for you all. Get's a little more "funk-ified" from here on out. More strange happenings, more killing, and still a future appearence by a familiar character or two _wink wink_. Don't forget my friends, Janice's past is still to come!

Thank you all for the reviews! You have made this my most popular story and I thank you so much!

* * *

Chapter Nine

Sweeney changed his shirt, taking his time as he did so. The metallic smell of blood filled the air, the delicious scent making him smile. He did have to admit, it was a rather harsh thing to do, killing a man with a daughter. Even before striking, he knew it was wrong, but he'd be damned if it hadn't felt so good anyway. It was an itch that needed to be scratched. Sure the guilt was starting to sink in, but that wasn't anything compared to the eagerness that would wash over it with another kill.

Behind him, slumped in the chair, head against his chest, blood still trickling and gurgling down his neck, sat Darren James. During his momentary convulsions the curtain had fallen off and to floor, fortunately catching some of the blood that was dripping down. Sweeney reached down for the material and dabbed at the scarlet puddles with ease, inhaling the dead smell that inhabited the air.

"I quite thank you Mr. James. It was an honor," Sweeney smirked, "It really was. Come along on now." Sweeney couldn't help but feel slightly mad talking to something dead, full well knowing it wouldn't respond. Throwing the curtain back over the corpse's shoulder and slung it in such a way as so he could lean over and haul the body over his shoulder. Almost immediately, Sweeney's knees gave a protesting tremble, muscles in his thighs screaming in pain and making him cringe.

Sweeney had certainly not been ready for that as he allowed the body to slide off him and onto the chair once more. As the weight shifted away, his legs seemed to sigh with relief but Sweeney could now feel that awkward wrenched feeling you got when you pull a muscle. Like something inside you isn't as tight as it _should _be.

Plopping down on the edge of the bed, Sweeney thought, placing his chin in the palm of his hand, brow furrowed in thought. He stared at the sagging body in concentration as if the answer would appear upon it's mangled flesh. He had to think fast and he knew it. At the most, a shave should take at least fifteen minutes tops, if you're trying not only to be careful, but quick. If he didn't come up with something fast, not only would Janice start to get curious, but Geoffrey, already constantly breathing down his neck, would only become more suspicious.

Sweeney sighed and stood. There really was no other choice. He'd have to ignore the pain just like he had so many years ago. If he was able to do it for fifteen years, he sure as hell could pull it off in ten minutes at the most. With a grueling grunt, Sweeney hefted the man over his shoulder, his forehead wrinkling as pain flared up his legs. Staggering a moment, Sweeney shifted the body and stumbled forward and fumbled for the bathroom door.

A knock made him jump.

"Mr. Todd? Mr. Todd? It's awfully quiet in there! Are you two alright?" It was Janice. Damn it all. Sweeney twisted the knob, jerked open the door, and deposited the body on the floor all in one fluid motion. He closed the door with a silent click behind him.

"Mr. Todd? Mr.-ah, Mr. Todd. How are things going? I came to see if-" Janice stopped, glancing over Sweeney's shoulder. She was silent for a long time, just staring until she looked at Sweeney, something curious in her eyes.

"Where Mr. James?" She asked, her voice monotonous, no rise or range to it. The same pitch the entire way through. Sweeney looked over his shoulder for dramatic effect and then turned back to Janice, a small grin on his face.

"I let him out back, through the bathroom. It was easier, and faster. He's fine, well shaved, and has promised to come back." Sweeney said, making sure to keep his voice reassuring. Janice gave him a dangerous look, her eyes sharpening. The next thing out of her mouth surprised him.

"What'd you do to him?" Sweeney didn't say anything, remembering to keep his face impassive.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about Janice." Sweeney said calmly. Janice's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. She cocked her head, the sudden bitterness of her mood palpable.

"That man has a daughter."

"I know that. He got upset when I mentioned her."

"He doesn't want no other man going after her. Only her fiancée. He gets so touchy about her." Janice said, nothing changing in her expression and stature. Sweeney glared at her, anger boiling inside of him. The box of blades was less than five feet from where he stood, on the window sill...

"I wasn't going to chase after her. I have no intention doing so." Sweeney retorted.

"What'd you do to that man?" Janice repeated, her eyes searching over his shoulder. Sweeney was well aware that the room had that bloody, rusty scent hanging in the air. Perhaps that's what she was getting all fired up over. But for the oddest reason, Sweeney didn't think so. And even more strange was that the feeling that Janice was _crazy_ was starting to work it's way back into his head.

"I would've thought you to have some sense, Mr. Todd," Janice sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Never kill those who have ties in the outside world." Sweeney's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He wanted to hit the old hag as a gentle smirk graced her features.

"Janice, I would never kill another man. Especially one who was going to walk his daughter down the aisle next spring." Sweeney bit back. Janice raised an eyebrow, giving him a fond smile that made him feel sick to his stomach.

"He tell you that before you let the blood spill?" Janice said as-a-matter-of-factly.

_What was that thing you did to stay alive again? Oh right...breathing._

Sweeney didn't move, couldn't move. Jesus Christ, it felt like every fucking limb was weighed down with lead or iron or steel or whatever the hell else was really heavy. He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. And when he regained focus, Janice was no longer standing in front of him, but rather in the room, eyeing the chair cautiously.

"Tell me you at least found a suitable place to put him? Bodies rot fast and they give off a great stink." Janice frowned as she stared at a bright red spot on the floor. Sweeney stared at her. This was not the reaction he was expecting. He had mostly figured if she had found out what he was doing (and it certainly surprised him that only after one kill, and without any suspicion from her at all, that she had jumped to the sudden conclusion of him killing a man...rather remarkable really), that he would most likely end up killing her himself and just walk away. He had done it before and he would do it again.

Now all he could do was just stand there and stare.

A loud "Mary Mother of God" caught Sweeney's attention. Janice had moved past him again and was standing in the bathroom doorway, her eyes down-cast as he knew her to be staring at the body.

"That's a bloody mess you've made there, Love." Janice sighed and closed the door with a shake of the head, looking paler than usual. Not that he could blame her...and unconsciously, whether out of habit or self defense, Sweeney had gotten a hold of the box of blades and had one, glinting and shining, in his hands. Janice stared from the silver to Sweeney, to the blade once more, and then met his eyes.

"Don't even think about it Benjamin." She said curtly. Sweeney showed no movement nor emotion, although something exploded in the back of his brain.

"What'd you say?" Sweeney asked, advancing upon her, blade still in hand. Her eyes flickered up and down again, from the blade to his dark eyes.

"Benjamin, please. Put that away before you hurt yourself."

"Don't say that. You don't know me." Sweeney snapped, twitching a bit. It took him a moment to realize the foreign feeling that he was grappling with, and when it came down to it, he still denied it. He wasn't angry, or upset, but he was scared. He refused to believe it, but it was still there, haunting him. Watching this woman who had seemed so gentle, if not crazy at some points (which he was sure of now), was standing in front of him, face unreadable, calling him by a name he had left so many years ago.

"Love, put down the knife."

"Stop talking like that. Stop it." Sweeney growled, but his grip faltered all the same. Mrs. Lovett's screams echoed through his head again. They hurt and his head groaned painfully, making him wince. She saw this and smiled. He hated her more than anything else in the world at the moment, wanting nothing more than to hurt her, make her scream, make her _bleed_.

"Don't you look at me like that." Janice said sternly. She sounded like a mother telling her child not to pout or he wouldn't get the ice cream he was promised on the way home. Sweeney was breathing hard now, the pounding of blood in his head making his temples throb.

"Benjamin Barker, I know what you did." A name he had abandoned no more than a decade ago, flew from her mouth. Sweeney dropped the blade to the floor at the sound of it, the name sound almost as foreign as "ten years" did. _Almost_.

"_You can't fool a woman. There's just no real way._

"_You can't fool me especially at this age._

"_You think I am mindless, and maybe that's so._

"_But dumb I am not, and that you must know._" She sang gently. Sweeney backed away, not wanting to come to terms that he was frightened by this woman. This mad, crazy, insane, out of her ever-loving mind bitch who only _thought _she knew him.

"_I too know the joy, in seeing the red._

"_I too know the pain, of words left unsaid._

"_And here you are before me, a past that I know._

"_And here I am before you, with a past I don't show._

"_They used to call me crazy, that loveless drove me mad._

"_They called me un-motherly, with a son without a dad._

"_They know nothing of what they speak, I know it's true._

"_I loved my son dearly, but his life is now through._

"_We all get up and move on, even if it hurts._

"_And let things as before us, in hopes it doesn't worse._

"_I stand here before you, with a secret I won't tell._

"_And a past that you won't know, until you're in Hell_." Janice fell silent, the expression on her face suddenly scared. She realized she had maybe said to much. Sweeney felt a burst of courage flood his system and he straightened, his eyes narrowing.

"What did you do Janice?"

"He called me crazy, didn't he?"

"I asked you a question."

"I bet he said I killed someone...my son. Did he say I killed my son?"

"I'm the one asking-"

"He did, didn't he? I would never-I could never-I-"

"Janice! What did you do?" Sweeney shouted, feeling a mad rush of delight as the old woman cringed away from him in surprise. She shook her head rapidly, her white hair falling askew. She put her hands up in defense and looked at the bathroom door.

"That is for another time. Hurry! We must take Mr. James out back," Janice urged, but Sweeney didn't move, "Please, Love, all will be explained. Someday. Sometime. I promise." She looked haggled and huffed, s light sheen of sweat breaking out across her head.

"What'd you do Janice. What...did...you...do?" Sweeney emphasized each word angrily. He wanted answers. She knew who he was, she did something terrible, she knew who he was, she had killed someone, she knew who he was, she might have killed her son, and _she knew who he was_. She froze and then moved for the bathroom, Sweeney catching her by the upper arm. She glared at him coldly.

"I did a lot of things, Mr. Todd," She answered, yanking out of his grasp, her gaze suddenly going soft, "Now help me, Love. We don't want Geoffrey to see this mess we've gotten ourselves into." The word "we" made Sweeney so infuriated, white spots danced before his eyes. There had been no "we", there was no "we", and there was never going to be a "we".

"Well, come on! Me old bones can't do this by themselves," Janine hissed as bones popped loudly as she bent over Mr. James, "You were thinking of the trench, yes? That'll be good for now. It's a nice thing I'm the caretaker of a cemetery."

"Yes, it'll prove useful when I bury you in it's dirt." Sweeney whispered. Janice looked up, her gaze questioning.

"What was that, Love?" She asked curiously. Sweeney shook his head, giving her hard look. She didn't say anything and looked away, muttering words he couldn't hear. He had the insane urge to try and listen but didn't. He didn't want to know almost as much as he did.

"Good," She finally huffed, taking Mr. James by his shoulders, "Then help me take him out."

* * *

Looks like Janice is a little more f'd up than we thought, eh? If you're still interested, stay tuned and see what happens! 

Btw, trust me, the story is rolling now!


	10. Chapter 10

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: This chapter's gonna be a little...funky...especially near the end! You'll see and I hope you love it!

**IMPROTANT NEWS**: We have offically reached chapter ten!!! It's a big thing for me whenever I hit a chapter ending with a zero because it means my progress is going just wonderful!

Thanks all so much for supporting me this far! I love you all!

* * *

Chapter Ten (Hell yeah!!!)

"Well, are you going to help me or not?" Janice huffed. The wrinkles in her face seem to set deeper as she glared at him.

"I bloody well can't do this myself, now come on!" Janice demanded, hiking Darren's body a bit, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Sweeney stood stock still, the shock of Janice being so, well, relatively calm abut this whole thing still had him frozen. He wasn't entirely sure what to do. He had one of two choices. He could easily kill Janice and walk away, or...he could help her move the body. Both were rather appealing, but the latter seemed far more dominant.

"Of course." Sweeney whispered the words as he moved forward hesitantly. It was as if any movement would shatter the scene before him, leaving nothing but a vague dream. But as he reached down, getting a secure hold of Darren's legs, any such thought was banished. This was real. It was all real. The smell, the taste, the shock, the excitement, the trembling...it was all _real_.

"Alright, let's go." Janice gave a small grunt of effort as she lifted the body. The two backed up, maneuvering silently around the tub, and heading for the back door. Janice dropped Darren to open the door. The man's head hit the floor with a bone-crunching thud, accompanied by the sound of something like someone squishing fruit between their fingers. Immediately blood started to poll behind the man's head. Sweeney wrinkled his nose as the smell of death violating the air, almost relishing in relief as it replenished his sense of calm.

"Oh dear. My fault. Sorry there Mr. James." Janice sighed and throwing open the door with such force it hit the wall outside. Sweeney had only been out once and had gone through this back door. Although he hadn't stayed for long, his weakened body shaking and the heavy scent of oncoming rain approaching, Sweeney took a few moments to breath in the fresh scent that inhabited the cemetery. He would never forget the smell that made him smile for the first time in so long. It was an ancient smell of rot, clinging desperately in the air.

For now, it was sunny out, the sky a crisp blue, small puffs of clouds rolling across the vast range of sky. It looked so artistic as it was complimented by trees with leaves that were turning golds, reds, and oranges. There was a slight breeze, cool and brisk, signaling Autumn was well underway.

"Tis a nice day, don't you think?" Janice asked, her breath coming out in short gasps as she tried to do her end of the work. Blood had stained a crimson blossom on the front of her dress. She either hadn't noticed or didn't care.

"Aye, it is. S'not gray..." Sweeney gave a brisk nod, eyeing the trench now only a few feet away. Janice stopped a good three from it, dropping Darren's corpse once again. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, a light sheen of sweat already decorating her face.

"What do you say? We haul him in?" Janice frowned staring at the murky gray depths that rippled below. Sweeney pondered for a moment, unsure. Last time he had done any of this, Mrs. Lovett had been the one to come up with the idea. She had been the one to suggest they bake the victims in pies (still brilliant now that he recalled it).

"Sounds good enough." Sweeney answered gruffly, skin starting to prickle as the chill was getting to him. Dear Lord, he didn't need to get sick, not right now, and not again. Janice seemed to notice and raised an eyebrow curiously, but she doesn't point it out.

"We'll throw some mud over it to keep it down. Dead bodies float until they rot completely and just sink, the water logged in them too much to hold." Janice straightened and looked over her shoulder, the graveyard beyond the fence seeming to stand out against the blue sky.

"When the time comes we'll bury him somewhere in there. It'll look just like another grave. And I have the best place to put him...and the others." Janice says the last line about the "best place" with small smile, mysterious and casual at the same time. Sweeney doesn't say anything, but hefts Darren's body nearer to the edge of the trench. Janice bends over again and lifts, the corpse swaying between them.

"On three. Ready? One...two..._three_!" Sweeney gave a great jerk, Janice's face going red as they tossed the body carelessly down into the trench. Darren rolled a good three or four times before hitting the dirty water with a loud -SPLASH- and bobbing gently on the surface, face down. Sweeney eyed their "work" for a moment, walking around a bit and looking at it from different angles. It had to look just right, or this wouldn't work.

"Start piling the mud. I'm sure Mr. Pickard is getting a little jumpy, so I'll go ease him. You finish here and then come in for-" Janice looked down at her dress and grimaced, "Oh damn it all." She rubbed at the red stain and her finger tips came off slick with blood. She wiped it off on the sash.

Janice was maybe halfway to the door before Sweeney called out to her, the whispering air ruffling his dark locks.

"Why did you do this?" Janice stared at him, hand reaching out for the door. She looked puzzled, as if she didn't know, and then she blanked entirely.

"Because Mr. Todd...you remind me so much of my son. You're a good boy, someone who listens to me. Just like he did," Janice responded, pushing the door open with a creak, "I can't let you get in trouble for something so...so simple."

"You call a murdered man simple?"

"You could've done worse."

"How?"

"Oh, you could've killed his daughter for one. Could've raped her or something as well." Janice said these things casually, as if they meant nothing, as if she just stating the chores she had to do for that day. Added to this was a shrug.

"Killing a man is not simple. I'm a dangerous man, Miss Crawly." Sweeney warned, gray face darkening despite the sun shining in the world above. Janice gave him a strangely sympathetic smile.

"Sure you are sweetheart. You keep telling yourself that Love, just keep listening to me, and we'll all be just fine. No problems whatsoever, alright?" Janice stepped inside before Sweeney could say another word, leaving him alone like he had been so many years ago.

Sweeney took one more moment to admire the baby blue sky with clouds as white as snow, before leaning over and digging his hands into the muddy ground. He wished he had a shovel, but this would have to do. The mud hot the body with a sloppy -THUD-.

* * *

Sweeney supposed he was grateful that the back door led into a washroom. His was filthy when he retired from the "dirty work" outside. There was dirt under his fingernails, dirt marking up his clothes, dirt collecting in thin bits of his hair. Janice, surprisingly, stood outside the door, a yellow dress on with matching shoes. No more bloody stain, no more red face, no more angry, if not impassive, demeanor. She looked happy to say the least. 

"Wash yourself up Love. We've got a mess to clean up before Mr. Pickard gets back." Janice gestured behind her where the bloodied curtain was still draped around the chair, along with puddles and drops of blood scattered everywhere.

"Where is he?" Sweeney asked as he noticed the sink was filled with fresh water. Most likely from the well outside.

"Fetching the ingredients for tonight's meal. Why?"

"No reason." Sweeney lied, watching as the water slowly turned brown and murky, grains of sand and dirt sloshing back and forth between his fingers.

"I'll start. You freshen up and then help me finish it." Janice said, reaching out and grabbing a towel from beside him. Sweeney nodded, splashing the water on his face, the liquid pleasantly cool.

"Oh, by the way Mr. Todd, I forgot to mention two things." Janice whirled around, her smile gone, but her eyes flashing with excitement.

"One, later this week I think you'll be well enough to handle to go out around London for the day." Janice said with a nod, as if agreeing for him. Sweeney stared at her, face dripping.

"And the other?" He asked, finger suddenly itching.

"Mr. Pickard says a man named Saul Gentry came by earlier. Homeless and a bit of a nomad. He's scheduled an appointment for this coming Thursday," Janice's lips quirked at the corners, "He says he's got money." Sweeney couldn't help but smile, the grin wicked and dark.

"Not like he'll need it."

"Aye, Love, I was thinking the same thing."

* * *

Janice slipped on the old nightgown, its white cotton material harboring a few stains here and there. It was old, bought years ago when she had first gotten married. It had been a gift from her father, the card saying "So I can have _some_ control over what you where around that man". It got a laugh from the crowd that had gathered around her during the reception. It was long, reaching to just about her ankles, but it hung low around her shoulders, once revealing smooth skin, only now revealing aged skin with wrinkles. Daniel had loved it, but more or less, like any other man, he preferred it off her entirely. She wondered if, maybe if there was some snow ball's chance in Hell he might come back, that he would still love it. 

It wasn't a pretty sight, but nor was it repulsive. Janice was still a relatively good-looking woman. But time had aged her considerably, making the beauty slowly ebbed away. She was left a scrawny body (stronger than it looked), with thinning white hair, and straining bones. She was, simply put, old.

But the one thing that didn't wither away, much like her body already was, that followed her everywhere she went...was her memories. Sweet memories. Dark memories. Romantic memories. Hateful memories. All locked up and stored away within the confines of her mind. Some things were left behind, not forgotten, but just fallen away with time to the back of her brain. Other things were blurry but still there, hovering between the point of falling back or becoming firm.

And there were the vivid memories. The one's that seemed so real, if one were lost in a daydream to it, it would almost seem reality. And it was amongst those realistic memories, was the first time Janice had ever killed someone. Something so dramatic, so abrupt, could not be forgotten so easily. They could not blur, they could not fly away to the back, there were just _there_.

Flashback

_"I don't care what you say. You had your chance, now it's mine!" A young woman with hair as dark as ebony shouted, shaking her fist like a small child. Janice glared at her, ruffling her skirts challengingly._

_"You don't understand do you? He loves me!" Janice yelled, hands going on her hips, red hair flailing wildly. The dark haired girl doubled over with harsh laughter, clutching her stomach._

_"You're so full of yourself, you know that? He doesn't love you! He told me so! Daniel loves __**me**__!"_

_"Let me tell you something little Ms. Carry Anne! Daniel Crawly is mine, I got him first, he got me first, and you can't have him," Janice protested, "Besides you're only sixteen! What do __**you **__know about love! Daniel's is twenty! He's out of your league, prissy pants!"_

_"Oh, so you being seventeen suddenly qualifies you to know everything about love? You're only a year older than me!" Carry argued. Earlier that day, Janice had formed a plan. She was going to go straight up to Carry Anne's place, hope to be invited in, and tell the girl exactly how she felt about Carry taking away Daniel. She had hoped for a rather civilized conversation, few words and then an understanding, and then all would be well._

_But not everything goes as planned, much as Janice was about to discover._

_The first part went fine. She had gone over to Carry Anne's and was invited in. Her parents were out for the day, attending a festival in the Town Square. She was politely given tea, and for a moment, Carry seemed to be the very person so many had described her as. Sweet, funny, and gentle. Then the talking began. At first Carry asked her if it was a joke, that Janice had to be kidding around. When Janice's face went dark, Carry turned serious and told her, very rudely, that Daniel was hers._

_Thus, they ended up like they were now, screaming their heads off._

_"It so happens it does! I'll know more than you ever will!"_

_"Well listen hear you evil...evil...evil BITCH! Daniel is MINE and you can't HAVE HIM!" Carry shrieked. It was fast. Almost too fast. One minute the two of them were face to face, crying and shouting, and then Janice had her hands around Carry's pale neck. The girl gave a startled squeak, and began to flail and struggle violently, her face turning red._

_She hit Janice twice in the face before Janice stumbled backwards and nearly tripped over the tea table. Carry was screaming for help, tears racing down her face, ugly black bruises already showing up on her neck. She dove into the kitchen and Janice came after her, knowing full well it could mean her own death if the word got out that she had attacked Carry Anne. London was very strict about these kinds of things..._

_Which meant she'd have to finish what she'd started._

_Carry had tripped, landing face first into the hard wood floor. She had scrambled to get up when Janice was on top of her again, hands wrapped around her throat. Carry let out great gasps, clawing at Janice's arms and face, brining forth blood. Janice ignored this completely, her head bowed, red hair creating a fiery curtain around Carry's face._

_Carry's lips began to turn blue, her cheeks going from red to purple as her struggling slowly became weaker. Her great blue eyes widened, the pupils shrinking as the lack of oxygen was starting to take its toll. She started to jerk and quiver, body wrenching this way and that, before it went stiff, movements slowing._

_Janice watched the life fade out of Carry's eyes, the blue eyes dulling. Her face had become a sallow shade of gray, the tongue lolled out of her mouth, puffed and too large to be held within it. Janice tore her hands away, backing up, tears and jerky sobs suddenly wrenching her body as she slammed into the cupboards behind her. She put a hand over her mouth as she stared at the dead body of the late Carry Anne._

_Janice Crawly had just killed Carry Anne._

_Her first instinct was to get up and run. To tear out of the house and never look back. But the fear of someone catching her or finding Carry's body was too great. Someone would know she had been here, and then she'd be put to death at the noose, suffocating just as Carry had. She'd have to come up with another idea._

_Her father. Her father was a caretaker. For decades, the Crawly family owned the cemetery land, digging up the ground for fresh bodies that lay before the woods of great oaks. Of course Janice wouldn't tell him about this, but maybe...just maybe..._

_Janice scrambled up and suddenly, with fierce energy, hauled Carry's body over her shoulder. She raced outside as fast as her feet would carry her, out the back, and into the woods she knew that led to her "secret place". Her "best place". The only place she could escape the world, and only laid about a mile from home and the cemetery, in the very forest of great oaks._

_Janice would bury the body there. She'd bury Carry Anne's body there. It was a small clearing, one large oak in the middle with forked roots she liked to settle herself between to read a good book. She'd bury the body behind it, and when she was done, as she noticed the sun setting and the sky turning purple and pink, she'd go find Daniel and tell him exactly how she felt._

_Yes, everything would be ok. People might be suspicious at first. Anyone would be. The disappearance of such a "precious" little girl would be big. But it would all be ok. She'd be ok. Her and __**Daniel**__ would be ok..._

_Yes. Life looked good._

End Flashback

* * *

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...anyone officially creeped out some more? lol Good! Reviews are much loved (especially for this chappy, seeming as it is #10 and it had a "phsycadelic" ending)!!! 


	11. Chapter 11

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: I feel as if I don't update fast enough..._frown_ And I would love some feedback or PM's telling me if I am not matching what they want! I want to keep my readers as much as possible!

P.S. As long as school doesn't cut in, I hope to get up at least _two_ chappy's hopefully a week! (Isn't a lot, I know, but I'm trying...)

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"So where is Mr. James?" Geoffrey asked curiously as he placed the groceries on the table. Janice smiled, pulling back a loose strand of hair.

"He' gone. Happily shaved. Mr. Todd Escorted him through the back." Janice said rather cheerfully. Geoffrey watched in curiosity, rubbing his chin lightly. Janice hadn't been this happy in a while. She was humming to herself as she put away the food in the organized cabinets, the yellow dress she wore seeming off to the solid colors she usually wore.

"Are you...alright, Missus Crawly?" Geoffrey asked. Janice gave him an amused smile, and nodded, keeping to her tune, a bit of a jig to her step.

"Of course I am, Love? Why wouldn't I be?" She laughed, stuffing a bag of bread into the lower cabinets beneath the silverware drawer. Geoffrey took the other bag, eyeing the old woman carefully as he took the contents out.

"I have a question to ask." Janice said abruptly. Geoffrey straightened, forgetting the foods on the table.

"Yes Missus?"

"Do you ever notice..."

"Notice what?"

"Do you think Mr. Todd looks a little like...well, a little like Jared?"

"I, uh, well...um..." Geoffrey cleared his throat. In truth he hadn't paid attention to anything like that. Especially when he was around Sweeney in the first place. A lot of the time he'd look away in the other direction, so it was no surprise he hadn't noticed.

But when confronted, Geoffrey supposed he could. A little resemblance although Janice spoke as if they were twins.

"I suppose. A bit." He replied. Janice nodded and Geoffrey took a moment to recollect himself in the silence. He went to stack the cans and separate them.

"Oh don't bother yourself with such thing Geoffrey," Janice flustered, flapping her hands wildly, "You go outside and attend to the horses. I'll take care of things in here, alright?" Geoffrey stared at her, eyes wide with shock. The bag had fallen to the floor, some of the jars rolling around on the hard wood. Janice stared back, an eyebrow raised.

"What?" Geoffrey couldn't respond, his throat closing up.

"Geoffrey? Geoffrey? Love, are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed." Janice said, voice mingled with concern. Geoffrey pulled away as she reached out, clearing his throat as he did so.

"Excuse me Missus Crawly," He said, voice warbling a bit, "I've got some horses to attend to." Janice chuckled, nodding and reached down to pick up the cans off the floor. Her back cracked painfully and she straightened, palming the tender area. Geoffrey was half way out the door, and she was reaching for another can, when she realized what she had done.

It had been the first time, even since Janice had first met him all those years ago, that she had used his first name.

* * *

"There you go Shirley. Dinner's ready." The copper mare strode forward, eyes dull and gray. She was old, approaching the age where being used for even simple trips to the store were getting too hard. From behind, Shirley's daughter, Lilly, cantered forward, her black coat shimmering glossily. She was an attractive horse, looked like her father, the great stallion who had once been part of the Crawly family. That was, before Daniel left anyway.

"Alright girl, lets get you some dinner too." Geoffrey patted her mane. The colt whinnied, prancing slightly. Geoffrey reached down for the bag of oats and poured them into the tub hanging on the edge of the door. The made a strange sound like rain on a tin roof as the pattered on the inside the basin. It was an almost calming sound...almost. And it would've stayed that way if Geoffrey hadn't suddenly felt so _watched_.

"I see Janice keeps you busy." A soft voice, cold and distant, said from behind. Oats spilled on the floor and Geoffrey made a scramble for it, catching it before it entirely spilled.

"Oh for _Christ's _sake!" Geoffrey hissed, scooping handfuls back into the bag, while twisting his head to look over his shoulder. Sweeney stood in the doorway, half his face decorated in shadows, the other with a dark eye sparkling with something he didn't recognize and couldn't place.

"Ah, Mr. Todd! Gave me fright you did!" Geoffrey sighed, his heart pumping. He put a hand over it as if it would magically slow its pace. Sweeney shook his head with a small smile.

"Quite sorry. I assure it was never my...intention in the first place." Sweeney grinned. Geoffrey swallowed thickly, straining to keep his face calm. There it was again. That indescribable flashing in Sweeney's eyes. Something "hungry" seemed the best way to say it.

"Then what was your intention Mr. Todd?" Geoffrey asked carefully, turning back to Lilly who was watching them silently as she chewed. Sweeney made no answer, but he was moving and Geoffrey only knew because of the silent -TAP- his shoes made on the cement floor.

"Mr. Todd?" Geoffrey asked, not turning around, but tightening all the more so. There was silence and then it seemed Sweeney was right in his ear.

"I don't doubt you'll be missed." Sweeney whispered. Geoffrey rounded on him, eyes wide, when he felt his breath hitch. Sweeney was standing a good two feet or so away from him, arms dangling at his sides, an odd expression on his face, but the look was not directed towards him. Rather it was off staring at the door, where a shadow loomed in the light.

It was Janice. She too had an odd look in her face, but one Geoffrey was able to describe. It was a mix of horror, anger, and something that seemed appalled. Almost as if she had seen Sweeney do something like this before and was quite ashamed that he had tried again. Whatever _it_ was...

"Dinner's ready." Janice said, mouth in a tight line. Her eyes narrowed as Sweeney took a step forward and then he took it back. Geoffrey wrapped up the bag and placed it next to the stall. He eyed Sweeney and Janice curiously before making his way out. Janice gave him a broad grin as soon as he, and she caught him by the forearm.

"Mr. Pickard," She started, using his last name again, "This coming weekend, I'm hoping to take Mr. Todd out around London. Get some fresh air. Would you mind driving us around?" She asked the last part quietly, as if she was seeing something in him that was disagreeing completely.

"Of course." Geoffrey replied hastily. Janice nodded, frowning a bit as Geoffrey caught eyes with Sweeney. Sweeney seemed to shift uncomfortably, almost angrily, and let down. As if he had been expecting something big to happen and it didn't. And it was then that Geoffrey caught onto something he hadn't ever before.

While Geoffrey was the type to make sure someone else's happiness and well-being before his own, Sweeney was not.

"Mr. Todd! What in _God's name are you doing_!" Janice hissed, hands on her hips. Sweeney noticed it had become a habit every time she was upset with him. Sweeney said nothing, almost giving a simple shrug. Janice pinched the the bridge of her nose, and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked like she was getting a headache.

"Do you want to live to see Fleet Street Mr. Todd?" She snapped. Sweeney, again, said nothing, but she knew he meant yes.

"You leave Mr. Pickard alone." Janice said breathily, her dress swishing as she went back for the house. She was stopped as Sweeney spoke.

"You think you can kill me?" He asked. He was leaning on the frame of the door, an amused smile on his face. She glared at him.

"I've done it before."

"So have I."

"So you have." Janice said, face suddenly sagging. She looked tired. And somewhere deep inside, she knew that he knew that _she _knew that if Sweeney wanted to, he could kill her. It would be easy. She wasn't as strong as she once was. And although Janice knew she had a strange effect on Sweeney, all good things end, and in the finale, it could be her life along with it.

* * *

Sweeney stood over the trench, squinting into the dark, the waters black as oil.

"Got to do this quickly now." Janice said hurriedly. She stood beside him, her small form quivering as the chilled night air engulfed them. Sweeney nodded, knowing full well she couldn't see it.

"You know your way?" Sweeney asked, voice flat, small puffs expiring from his mouth.

"Like the back of my hand."

"Will it take long?"

"Not if you move fast." Janice replied. Sweeney let out a long side and descended down the edge of the trench, letting his fingers trace down the muddy sides to steady himself. His boots hit the water with a loud splash, soles sinking deeply into the muck. And like Janice knew exactly where her "best place" was, Sweeney knew exactly where he had thrown in Darren James.

Sweeney felt around with his hands for a while, the water rippling coldly against his legs, his toes already starting to freeze. Immediately, his hand dove under the surface, rising back up with a wrist that probably looked as pruned as it felt. It was clammy and disgusting, but it really didn't matter, nor did he care.

"Come on." Janice urged. He could hear her shuffling from one foot to the other impatiently. Women really had no patience whatsoever when they had something to do. Although a dead body was different, it was still the same. Sweeney hauled the body up, his legs giving an angry protest in his thighs that he found himself ignoring with surprising ease.

It was harder to drag the body uphill. And especially when he finally got up, Sweeney found the throb in his legs far more noticeable. He growled in defiance, and threw the body to the ground where it landed with a dull thud. Janice let out a long sigh, words in it that he barely caught.

"So it starts..." It sounded like.

"Like a vicious circle." Sweeney finished himself, muttering under his breath.

"What, Love?"

"Nothing."

"Of course."

* * *

Janice could here Sweeney grunting behind her, and she couldn't help but pity him. It had only been a few days that he had rested, and he was still in no condition to be moving around like he was. Much less out in the cold like this, or hauling around a dead body. Do you know what kind of bacteria infests itself in a corpse? A damn good amount, let me tell you.

"How are you holding up back there Mr. Todd?" Janice asked, knowing immediately it was a stupid question. She asked anyway. He gave a short chuckle, sarcastic and harsh.

"Carrying a dead body, striding around in the forest behind a cemetery, the middle of the freezing night, a crazy old bat parading me about, and the urge to kill someone else growing...by all means, I'm fine," Sweeney hissed, "Just fine, _Love_."

"I don't approve of being called _old_ Mr. Todd." Janice quipped. She had played this game before. Sweeney let out a satisfying groan.

"Only a little more, Love. I promise." Janice smiled, and plodded on through the trees. Sweeney was behind her, no longer grunting, but now murmuring curses between clenched teeth. It was then that she stopped. Came to a complete halt. Behind her, Sweeney straightened, trying to ignore the foul scent that plugged up his nose.

"What?" He asked. Janice rounded on him, a twinkle in her eye.

"We're here." She whispered, face excited. It was then Sweeney could see her as a small girl. He could see a round face with dimples, great blue eyes with a smile to match, and a terrific eagerness to go with it. She turned away and the image vanished along with her.

"Are you sure."

"Always." Janice replied. She took a few steps forward to a large weeping willow, it's branches swaying with the breeze, before pulling it back and stepping within them. Sweeney stood outside, the mood shining down giving the place an eerie silver look. There was a crunch of leaves and then the branches were pulled back again.

"Well Mr. Todd? I do we have some work to do." Janice smiled and Sweeney nodded, stumbling forward and through the branches.

"Welcome Benjamin...to my best place."

And it was the best place for what they were going to do.

The weeping willow covered most of the area, it's gnarled roots sticking up here and there in front of a massive trunk. It was an ancient thing and the dirt around it was soft and scattered with leaves. The moon above cast thin gray rays when the branches moved about, allowing him to see further. The old tree arched over them, gracefully stretching towards the sky, able to cover just about anyone or anything from view.

"Are you done gaping Mr. Todd?" Janice asked, humor in her voice. Sweeney didn't see what was so funny. He didn't respond but kept looking around. As he did so, his eyes drifted over something that drew his eyes back as fast as light. The ground, being soft, he could see, was disturbed. There was lump that rose above the rest of the ground, nearly unseen as a root rose before it and it was covered with leaves. Sweeney was about to inquire about, even though, somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew what it was.

Or rather...who it had _been_.

"Shall we?" Janice inquired. Sweeney nodded, knowing she could see it as the branches parted and bathed him in silver. He could see her blue eyes shining.

"Of course."

And had Sweeney taken more time to ponder about, or had the light been brighter (such had it been day), he would've seen the rest. The other raised clumps of dirt. The other two...

* * *

Hmmm...I wonder what the other two clumps are...and are there more? And who's Todd's next victim? And what happens when he _does_ visit Fleet Street in the chapters soon coming? Stay reading! 


	12. Chapter 12

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: How'd do you like them apples! I got another chapter up! Wo0t!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

_There was blood everywhere. It coated the walls, it dripped from the ceiling, it stained the carpet and curtains. Oh and the screams. The screams shattered the air like glass. Horrid shrieks that echoed off of every surface, everywhere about the room._

_Oh god, and there was no escape. He couldn't find his way out. Reaching blindly out in front of him, hands groping for just about anything, he was met with nothing. The room stank of something foul, something dead and it was making him gag. He couldn't breathe. And he couldn't see, the warm red liquid falling into his eyes, stinging them. It hurt. It all hurt so damn much._

_Someone was talking to him. A deep voice, soft and wispy. Cold and hateful. He couldn't hear the words, although not that it mattered. He knew who it was without looking. Without needing to see. The Demon...oh God, the Demon was back. The Demon was back and he was hungry._

_He was going to die in here...he was going to die in here...he was going to die in here..._

"Mr. Pickard? Mr. Pickard!" Janice's worried voice cut through the hazy dream like a knife. Geoffrey sprang up, sweat coating him like a second skin. There were dark circles beneath his arms and around his neck, his body shaking and trembling with fright. Janice stood over him, her eyes wide with concern, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his upper arm.

"Mr. Pickard? Love, are you alright?" Janice asked, her voice quivering. Geoffrey looked about wildly, eyes darting back and forth. His heart was racing much like the night before when Sweeney had surprised him in the stables. He had stayed away from Sweeney the next day, avoiding him as much as possible. Although, he had noticed how tired both he and Janice seemed. And Sweeney...his nails were dark...was that dirt?

"Mr. Pickard? Please say something!" Janice begged, sitting down beside him. Geoffrey met her eyes, the blue orbs frightened. Almost automatically, his pulse began to slow, Janice's presence suddenly an overwhelming calm. He took her hand giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I-I'm fine M-Missus Crawly," Geoffrey stuttered, trying to regulate his breathing, "Tis nothing, d-dear." Janice stared at him, cocking her head and looking totally unconvinced. He didn't say anything as he tried to banish all images of the nightmare that danced through his head in a rush of whirling colors and noises. God the screaming. All that screaming...

"Geoffrey...please. What is it? What happened?" Janice said his first name and Geoffrey's train of thought was broken. it seemed so foreign on her tongue. So unused. He didn't know what to say anymore.

"I...I just...I don't...know." And Geoffrey found it true. He really didn't know what had happened. How the nightmare had started. What had provoked it. He didn't know. He just didn't know. And he supposed, at the same time, that it was possibly for the better.

_The Demon is back_.

"Mr. Pickard?" Janice was back with his last name, cutting through his thoughts again. He squeezed her hand again, heaving an enormous sigh. The muscles in his neck hurt like hell.

"Really Missus, I'm fine." He reassured, more than positive his voice was still quivering. Janice frowned deeply and nodded, still not looking convinced.

"Alright then. You best be getting up soon," Janice wrung her hands together, and Geoffrey noticed that her fingernails looked rather dark too, "The horses will be getting hungry soon." She turned, stopping at the door.

"Be ready at ten tomorrow with the carriage, we're going out." All he could do was nod.

* * *

"Mr...?"

"Todd, if you please. Sweeney Todd." The corners of Sweeney's mouth twitched up in a careful smile. The man standing before him smelled like the dump down by the docks. His clothes were ragged and torn and the only thing that seemed truly decent was the hat he was twirling between his fingers. His hair was scraggly, messy and sticking up every which way, and his chin was brooding with a beard.

"And what, may I ask, do you call yourself?" Sweeney asked, leading the man in, already knowing full well who he was.

"Saul. Saul Gentry," The man says as he sits in the chair and Sweeney slips a towel (or rather a curtain) over his shoulders, "This be nice place you got here, Mr. Todd."

"Thank you." Was all he said. This would have to be quick work. He knew, down the hall, Janice stood waiting. When he was done, she'd help him move the body out. When night came up, she'd lead them back to the "best place".

He had questioned her that morning about it. Asked if they could do such a trip during the day, where it would be easier to see, warmer as well. She told him, flat out, "No". When he asked why, she averted the question to talking about Geoffrey's state of panic that morning. Rather an interesting topic, but his question was still avoided. And when he tried again, she turned it to the topic of Fleet Street, and where'd he'd like to go. What he'd like to do.

Sweeney really didn't give a damn.

"Lean back please." Sweeney ordered. Saul did as he was told.

What Sweeney was really interested in was Janice herself. The woman definitely hid so much more than she was showing. Not only that, he'd like to figure out what happened to him in the first place. How he ended up crawling out of the ground like that. How ten years passed and he hadn't been aware, rather dead for that matter. It was all so confusing.

But the irritation disappeared, if not for a little bit, as the razor slid across the man's throat. Saul bucked, throwing the curtain clean off him as blood jettisoned forth, very much unlike Darren. This was a spout of crimson rather than the scarlet curtain of Mr. James. It showered to the floor, sounding a pit like rain, and it hit Sweeney square in the chest, the material turning a rather disgusting shade of maroon. Saul twitched for a little while, muscles still going into spasms well after he was already dead.

Blood had gotten on Sweeney's skin this time, soaking his neck and hands. And it had actually gotten on the mirror that was across from them over the fireplace. The reflection of the two of them was nightmarish and horrid, and Sweeney couldn't help but smile. It was so beautiful.

"You done, Love?" Janice asked, leaning against the door frame, her lips upturned in a somewhat of a sad smile. Sweeney nodded, face gray and hard once again. Janice wasn't looking at him, but at the mirror, studying herself through the red splotches. For the first time in a long time, she could see the color her hair once was. The vibrant red it had been. But as the sound of a body being dragged along her floors reached her ears, the image was gone.

She locked the door and helped Sweeney bring the body out back.

* * *

The body was easily buried.

A man who would never be seen again. And a man who would never be missed. Buried side by side.

Next to the others...more than two...more than three...oh yes, more than three...

* * *

Sweeney should've been able to waken like he had been for the past few days. But he didn't. He woke with a clenching stomach and that feeling you only got when you knew something was happening whether you wanted it to or not. And right now, Sweeney had either forgotten or didn't know, but _something _was about to happen.

He woke to the air smelling faintly like muffins, banana muffins to be more exact. Those had been Lucy's favorite. It wouldn't be until later that Sweeney would realize that the thought of Lucy had been the first though he had had about her since the night of the graveyard.

Janice came in a few moments later, a blue bonnet on her head, the ribbons neatly tied under her chin. She wore a light green dress, small blue flowers imprinted here and there with lace. The blue made her eyes stand out.

"You best be getting ready, Love," Janice quipped, "We'll be leaving soon."

"For where?" Sweeney frowned, sitting up and running a hand through his dark locks. Janice laughed lightly, a hand on her stomach as she did so.

"Why to Fleet Street Mr. Todd!"

"Fleet Street?" Sweeney couldn't convey his surprise. He had forgotten completely, and now it was back, full on and raging. Janice smiled broadly, her eyes dancing. She nodded.

"Well come on! Hurry yourself and get ready!" Janice ushered, taking out clothes for him to wear from the near by bureau. Sweeney didn't say anything as she put them on the bed, and gave him a strange look.

"What is it Mr. Todd?" She asked, titling her head. Sweeney met her eyes, and then shook his head.

"Nothing," He sighed, making a movement with his hands to usher her out, "Fleet Street it is."

* * *

Be sure to look forward to meeting some old friends next chapter. Yes, that is friends with an "s"!And _maybe _look forward to finding out a secret or two as well! _wink wink _because I'm evil like that lol 


	13. Chapter 13

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: God, I've had such a busy week, and I am so **SORRY**!!! I had a church event all through the afternoon on Friday following with a dance. I had a social get-together for a friend, followed by a Mardi Gras party! Gah! My feet are killing me! So that's why I didn't get it up for so long and I'm sorry! Please forgive!

P.S. **GO PATS!!! Wo0t!!! (**from MA and is loyal of course lol)

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Chapter Thirteen

Geoffrey sat straight, the reigns in his hands, eyes averting everything except the road. He could feel Sweeney's dark eyes on his back, burning holes into his head. He shifted slightly, watching the two mares, mother and daughter, trot side by side. If he cocked his head and listened hard enough, Geoffrey could hear Janice's voice all gushed and eager while Sweeney returned with grunts, eyes still directed at him.

Geoffrey didn't dare look.

"Aren't you excited Love?" Janice asked, whispering in Sweeney's ear. Sweeney gave her a small smile, the muscles aching. He was tired, exhausted actually. This trip was taking a lot out of him, the stress already draining him. He didn't know why Janice would bother asking that question. It was obscene. How excited could one be when going back to a place where they had murdered, killed their wife, and _died_ along with it? How was _that_ exciting?

Sweeney wanted to tell her she was stupid. That the question only made it more pronounce. He wanted to his curses between his teeth at her, wanted to defile her verbally. Physically as well. But it was always far more pleasurable to break them down before ensuing with the final blow.

"Of course." Were the words that came out of Sweeney's mouth instead. Janice's eyes go soft, the blue sparkling. It reminded him of the diamonds you see out on the water when the sun is high in the sky. Something too pleasant to be thinking about as, over the hill, there rose smoke from chimneys far away. It was so close, everything was so close. London. Fleet Street. The filth that littered its streets. Dear Lord, you could _smell _it from here.

"Look there!" Janice pointed a wrinkled finger out to the billowing gray smoke from a now visible chimney. It rose high into the gray, standing out with its stained bricks. From beyond it, you could now start to see other chimneys, and soon following that were the roofs. They angled sharply into the sky, everything reaching for the clouds as if screaming for redemption, screaming for release. An escape that would never come.

And the first person Sweeney saw after ten years of being away was a woman. She looked no older than thirty, heavy bags under her eyes. She had a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, dirty blonde locks falling messily about her face. She watched them as the carriage past, hazel eyes dull and dreamlike as if there was no life to them.

Sweeney wasn't sure why he watched her the way he did. The conclusion he came to was that this person was the first. The first of so many more that he would see, but she had gained the title of first. He looked over his shoulder at her, and she was watching them still, staring at _him_. At first, Sweeney expected nothing from her, just the simple stare, and then her hand suddenly came up. A brief wave and then she turned away as the carriage rounded the corner.

Sweeney waved anyway.

"Who are you-"

"No one." Sweeney shot back, turning back around. The cobblestone street ahead of them gleamed with rain. Janice's brow furrowed, a sign of irritation, but she did not pry. Instead she did the most unusual thing. She linked her arm with his.

"Are you scared Mr. Todd?" She asked, not looking at him. Sweeney frowned, eyeing her arm. She didn't pull away and actually leaned in to talk to him.

"Do you think they'll...know you?" Janice asked curiously, her eyes flicking quickly to his and back. This was really uncalled for, and if he felt anything right now, it was no where near fear. It was disgust, and in the back of his throat, Sweeney could feel sour bile rising in his throat. The only that did keep him from retching was the fact that if she persisted on clinging to him when they got out, it would most likely look like a son helping his elderly mother out and about.

"No." Sweeney said quickly, not wanting to talk, only to absorb the sights and sounds. People in ragged clothes, and other in richer garments, strode about the streets. A few passed them glances, and other walked right on by, carrying on with their lives.

"Oh Mr. Pickard," Janice leaned forward, calling out to Geoffrey who pulled on the reigns, "You can stop here. We'll walk the rest of the way." Janice gave Sweeney a gentle smile, patted his hand, and unlinked her arm. She scooted to the other side of the carriage and pulled open the door, Geoffrey already waiting outside to help her down. She took it with a quiet thank you and dainty steps down the ladder. Sweeney watched with no interest, before yanking open his side and dropping out.

He tugged the collar of his jacket, the air thick with moisture. A cool breeze blew through the winding streets, people clutching tightly to themselves as they hurried past. Sweeney didn't feel right, staring at them. He felt so out of place, like he didn't belong. And he felt as though, like the dull eyed woman on the streets, that suddenly everyone was staring at _him_. It hadn't been that way in the carriage, but _fuck_, it was now.

"Mr. Todd? Love?" Janice had her arm in his again. staring up at him with those blue eyes that still seemed so much younger than the rest of her. Sweeney frowned, saying nothing, not bothering anymore. A few people looked at them, but no one else paid any mind. Sweeney was no longer thinking of them, his only thoughts directed about reaching the heart of Fleet Street, trying not to notice the others.

"I say, lets take a gander at the shops, shall we?" Janice asked him, looking over her shoulder.

"Mr. Pickard," Geoffrey looked up as his name was called, "You have your jobs and items to gather. Move along! We'll meet you here at four sharp, alright?" Geoffrey nodded, eyes staying to the ground. Sweeney couldn't help but smirk as Janice led the way, and his eyes traveled to the gray sky overhead. The silvery orb that was the sun hung in the middle of the sky, signaling it was already noon.

* * *

"Ah, look at this!" Janice cooed, picking up a bonnet, and removing her own. It was an off white with a yellow rose, obviously fake, pinned on the side with two white ribbons wrapped around it. She put it on, adjusting it in the mirror before it.

Sweeney didn't look.

He was glancing out the window rapidly, watching people who he thought were watching him. He had already thought the saleswoman had been eyeing him, making him twitch slightly. He wasn't sure if it was just nerves or if they really were, but it was still freaky. Hell, it was scary.

"Mr. Todd? See anything you like?" Janice asked, gesturing about the store, as she reached for another hat. This one was pink. Sweeney wrinkled his nose. What in the name of God was he supposed to find in a ladies store? Besides, what was here was nothing compared to what he really wanted.

"And if you come back here, you can try on our newest corsets, straight in from France." The saleswoman smiled proudly. Janice grinned, putting back the hat. She looked at Sweeney, eyes unsure. He just nodded vaguely, staring back out the window. As the two wandered away, Sweeney overheard only one line before dashing out the store.

"My, he does remind me Jared. So handsome."

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The cobblestone beneath his feet echoed of the walls under his steps. Sweeney twisted and dodged around people, eyes focused directly ahead. He ignored everyone and everything except the next step. He was close, the long gone smell of meat pies seeming to fill the air. Mrs. Lovett's sweet perfume suddenly closer. The salty taste of blood tingling his tongue. It wasn't there of course, not in reality. But damn it, it seemed so real, Sweeney decided it was.

"Watch yo'self! Bloody hell!" A woman screeched in his ear as he bumped into her. She brushed past him, a hood pulled low over her face and hair. She disappeared around the corner quickly, Sweeney catching a glimpse of faded blonde hair. Perhaps it was the woman he had seen earlier. Sweeney doesn't think about it much and just carries on, pushing and shoving, moving quickly to his destination.

He rounded the sharp turn, nearly running head to head with another man and he froze. There it was. There it bloody fucking was. For a moment, Sweeney felt light headed, almost unable to stand up. He thrust out a hand blindly, hand hitting the brick wall beside him as he just stared.

It had changed much in the decade that passed by. The lettering above had faded of course, years of rain and rot eating away at it. The windows were boarded up, except for one on the side. The very one he and Mrs. Lovett had looked out of to the priest welcoming those to the daily sermon, unaware of thoughts that had him as a pie. The panes were shattered though, the upper right not, but cracked severely. The door hung of its top hinge, angling downwards. It swung back and forth in the breeze, smacking with a dull thud each time it closed.

It was then that he saw the woman. The one who had shrieked in his ear. She was making a dash for the store, wrenching open the broken door and hurriedly disappearing inside. She looked over her shoulder once, through the glass, dark eyes weary. She was gone in the darkness a moment later.

Sweeney's brow furrowed, the dizziness disappearing. He took one step, froze, took another, froze, and then finally his legs started to move. He was halfway to the door when he stopped again, a shadow moving beyond the door. Someone was watching, someone was waiting, someone was-

He was moving again, and before he knew it, his hand was on the knob. The rusted metal was cool beneath his skin, chips of it coming off on his palm. Did he really want to do this? Was he up for it? Mentally and physically? Was he-

The door seemed to open on its own accord, and he stepped inside, the shadows thick. Nothing registered at first, the darkness moving like liquid before his eyes. And then things started to adjust, the light from the door giving objects shape and form. Then came the noises.

There was the pitter-patter of heels somewhere above him, moving quick. But from before him came a sound he had only heard so many times before. The sound of a knife on a cutting board. one -THUNK- right after another, solid and hard. The door creaks open and it stops, the light revealing a figure beyond the counter Mrs. Lovett had stood behind in what had seemed such a short time ago.

"Who's there?" A voice asks, small but harsh. Behind the counter stands a lanky young man, tufts of wild black hair going in every direction on his head. He has his head cocked, looking in Sweeney's direction. Sweeney squints in the darkness, realizing a mistake. A rather curious one. The young man's not looking at him. He can't. There are bandages wrapped about his eyes.

"Who's there?" The man asks again, hand gripping the knife in his hand. He has it up now, defensively, brow furrowed.

"Toby? Toby! Who is it?" The shrill voice that had nearly made Sweeney deaf called down the stairs. The room seemed to spin, Sweeney's stomach giving a nasty lurch. Oh Jesus, oh Mary Mother of God...

"Madame!" Toby cries, voice frantic. He's frightened and Sweeney knows it by the pitch. When he was younger his voice would always rise a few octaves. It was a telltale sign. There suddenly came quick steps down the steps, and another figure was now standing in the room.

A young woman. Maybe a once truly beautiful girl, now haggard with pain and time. Yet a girl with hair that still shone like the gold of the sun.

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How do you like them apples? Huh, huh, HUH? lol One guess on the girl with the blonde hair! And if you get it wrong, I get the right to smack you! 

Look forward to future chapters! Much love!


	14. Chapter 14

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: See! I told you we'd meet some old friends! lol We met Toby (who has mysterious bandages over his eyes...uh oh...you'll learn why in this chapter) and someone with blonde hair. Take a wild guess at who it is!

**JEEZ**, I was sick all week, my fever ended up peaking at 103.2 on Thursday and I was afraid I wasn't gonna be able to update you guys on the story! But I broke it sometime during last night, and I'm feeling alright now. I got a chest cold (that scuks...) but other than that, I'm rolling right along.

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Chapter Fourteen

Such pretty golden locks, tangled and messy, but so damn beautiful. Sweeney wanted to touch them, run his fingers through them, feel the texture on the webs between his fingers. Lucy. That was all that came to mind. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy...oh, Lucy. Love you, love you, love you, oh Lucy, love you...

But it wasn't Lucy. No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. The small heart-shaped face was to young to be Lucy. The eyes, grim with the years, still held the youth of a girl or rather young woman. No, not Lucy, but so similar...ever so similar, it was frightening.

"Johanna-"

It was a scream, loud and earsplitting that broke off his thought like the shattering of glass. Reality slunk its way back into view, revealing the shadow cluttered store before him. The food Toby had been slicing up had fallen to the floor, the knife along with it, a good half inch of its tip stuck in the floor. The poor boy had fallen to the floor, body trembling, hand groping about the floor, edging ever so slowly towards the knife.

And then there was pain. Not a lot, but enough to redirect Sweeney's attention elsewhere. Something had hit him and rather hard if he might add. Whatever it was, it hit the floor with a clatter, the sound echoing off the walls. Sweeney looked down, his cheek throbbing, sure that it was growing darker by the second, to see a...cup, yes, a cup lolling back and forth on the ground. The rim was now broken, shards lying beside it.

"You get out of here!" Johanna shrieked, already pale face gone ten shades of white. Her eyes were wide and fearful, a hand clutched over her heart as if she were having a heart attack. Toby's hand had caught around the handle now, and he gave it a yank and fell backwards on his rump, his grip turning his knuckles white.

"Johanna? Johanna!" Toby cried, clutching the knife to his chest as if it were the last remaining stance between his survival and death. Sweeney supposed it was.

"I said get out! You can't be here! You can't be here!" Johanna cowered back as Sweeney took a step forward. She nearly tripped over her own two feet as she scrambled over to Toby, taking the knife from him. She brandished the knife in Sweeney's direction, causing him to freeze to a halt.

"Forget my face, you bastard," Johanna hissed, her language so violent, so opposite to her pretty face, "That's what you said. Forget my face. I'm forgetting! Now go!"

"Don't talk like that Johanna." Sweeney whispered, taking another step forward.

"Stay away!" Johanna cried, giving the knife a quick jab forward although it was futile. Sweeney was still a good five feet away. He stopped again anyways.

"I'm asking you politely _Mr. Todd_," Johanna shivered, taking a hold of Toby and nearly crushing him to her bosom, "Leave now or...or I'll call the authorities! I will! I'm not lying! I'll-"

"Johanna, please, put down the knife. You'll hurt yourself."

"Mr. Todd?" The words now came from Toby. He muttered them barely above a whisper, his brow crinkling behind the bandages. Something passed over his face, recognition, fear, something...and the Toby had Johanna about the waist and was dragging her backwards. He was muttering panicked "No, no no's..." into her chest.

"You've already done this to him," Johanna pointed frantically to his eyes, "Before you do something else go back to the rat hole you crawled out of!" She ran a hand through Toby's shaggy hair, cooing in his ear, eyes never leaving Sweeney. He didn't move, but took another step forward...and then another, followed by another and another until finally he was crouching before the two.

Johanna was shaking, the knife still out before her, but she had frozen, unable to move. Toby had gone still as well, sensing Sweeney near him, his senses more acute now that his sight had been lost. If it was entirely lost or perhaps there was just a bad cut. 'Don't be stupid,' A voice accused somewhere in the back of his head, 'The boy's blind.'

"Johanna. Put it down. I know you. You wouldn't hurt-"

"Watch me." Johanna retorted, but there was no venom. It was timid, and she knew that he was right, but refused to believe it. Sweeney reached out and Johanna drew away, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Sweeney reached out to the quaking weapon, wrapping his hands around the blade, making sure to keep eye contact with the girl he wished more than anything he could tell was his daughter. Johanna did nothing, but refused to let go out of the defense.

"If I was going to hurt you, I would've done it already." Sweeney sighed, almost gently, his other hand slipping over Johanna's. She gasped, jerking the knife a bit, and Sweeney's brow suddenly came together and red spilled over the silver of the blade. Johanna gasped, her hand wrenching away and going to her mouth, the tears tracking over her cheeks now.

Sweeney took the knife and tossed it aside. Ripping the end of his cuff, he wrapped it about his palm, cringing as pain flared up. Johanna had moved away, letting go of Toby who had now scrambled away behind the counter, the sound of items clattering to the floor as he was obviously searching for something.

"How...?" Johanna murmured, watching him with watery eyes. Sweeney didn't know what to say, but rather sat down in front of her, crossing his legs. He felt terribly strange at that moment, as if they had been doing this for the past hour. As if this were no big deal. Like they had been sharing a story around the fire with no worries...only now, Toby was standing over him, hovering in front of Johanna, a jack knife in his possession.

"You need to leave Mr. Todd." Toby said, his voice quivering.

"Toby." Sweeney said it firmly, watching Toby inwardly cringe. The boy had to be about twenty-three now, and he was still so fearful. That made intimidation better though, it made it easier to get under their skin. Although, as he was thinking this, it hit Sweeney that his daughter had to be nearing twenty-six...oh dear Sweet Jesus. She could've already lost her virginity for all he knew, even gotten married and had her first kid. Well, let me tell you, he'd find the man who'd stolen her purity from her and-

"Leave us alone...go back to Hell." Toby didn't sound as confident as he looked, and he knew it. Johanna wrapped a pale hand about his wrist pulling him back. She took the knife from his fingers, placing it on the floor beside her, and putting a chaste kiss on the inside of his wrist.

"We need to renew your bandages dear. Head on up stairs."

"But Miss-" Toby panicked, taking Johanna's hands in his. Johanna rubbed them reassuringly.

"Mr. Todd will not hurt me. If he does, I swear," She glared at Sweeney, "He will be dead like that." She gave a small snap of the fingers. Toby looked uneasy, his slim form shaking.

"We just need to...to talk." She whispered, wiping her eyes, her make-up smudging. Her blonde hair was tousled as she ran a hand through it, the knots becoming worse. Lucy's hair had never looked like _that_. And as Sweeney sat watching, unable to say a word, his throat dry, he couldn't help but wonder the sudden change in her reasoning. How she had decided to cave into him. Had it been something he said? Or perhaps the lack of hostility? The latter seemed more likely than the former. He would have to ask her once they were alone.

"F_orget my face._" Yes, Sweeney remembered that. But how did she-

It clicked right then and there. The girlish looking boy all those years ago. The one that had hidden in the trunk, watched him kill that bastard of a judge. The one he had been so close to killing before Mrs. Lovett's terrified screams had echoed up from the basement.

"F_orget my face._" That boy...that _girl_. It was Johanna. Now Sweeney really couldn't talk. In fact he wasn't sure if he could breathe. He felt miles away, the ground suddenly seeming to no longer be there.

"Mr. Todd?" Johanna was there before him again, a hand waving before his eyes. Beyond her, Toby had frozen on the stairs, head cocked slightly, and then he made his way up. Sweeney watched him, face crumbling a bit. She had said it was his fault. But...how?

"It killed him from the inside I suppose you could say." Johanna sighed, looking at the stairs, seeming to read his mind. God, she really was Lucy's daughter, despite the messy hair. Sweeney raised an eyebrow as she looked back to him. His dark eyes trailed over her, drinking in every curve and angle that he had never seen grow that he should have.

"Seeing Mrs. Lovett die. Seeing all that blood. For such a small boy, it's so hard to take in. It was horrible really..." Johanna wrung her hands together, staring down at the unkempt nails with distaste. There was dist under them, dust streaking the edges.

"How did...?"

"He came up stairs to your "shop"," Johanna put quotations around the word with her fingers as she pointed up, "He was crying, and I mean, _crying_. The kind where it seems like your losing your mind. I don't think he knew I was there until I hurried to help him." Sweeney wasn't catching on, growing slightly impatient. Yes, she was her mother. Drawing everything out like any woman would, making the stretch out before getting to the point of it all. She seemed to sense this and looked away, frowning.

"He came up. I was still in the chair and he...he was in hysterics. I-I didn't know wh-what he was going to d-d-do," Johanna had started to cry again, and she hurriedly wiped them away with her fist, but more kept coming, "The razors...they-they were still on the t-table..." She hiccupped violently.

"Johanna-"

"I couldn't stop him. Before I knew what he w-was d-doing...he'd cut out his eyes!"

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MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I'm so evil! XDXD How'd you like that? I was debating on how to do it, and this little devilish plot just kind of "stuck" itself right in the eye...literally! lol 

And yes, I understand, it's cruel. But my friends, that's how I roll. And what's Sweeney Todd without the brutality, huh?


	15. Chapter 15

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: This is a **WARNING**! This chapter gets gory, as I go into detail about Toby and the loss of his eyes. I rather like the way I described it all, and suggest I did a damn good job (_does a happy dance_)!

**ALSO IMPORTANT!!!** I need to ask your people's opinions...do you think I need to up the story to "M"?

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Chapter Fifteen.

"_He'd cut out his own eyes_!" For the oddest reason, those words didn't seem real. Like they had some sort of lilt to them that made them fake. He couldn't have...a boy so young would never...would he? No. It was absolutely out of the question. There was just no possible way. He-

"Couldn't have." There is was simple as that. If he said it couldn't have happened, then it _didn't_. But the look was still on her face. That look. That pain and horror burned fresh into her memory like a brand to a cow. It seemed as though she had only witnessed it yesterday.

"I didn't want to believe so either..." She trembled, wrapping her arms about herself. She could remember everything so clearly, the guilt of never moving fast enough making her breath hitch. She had never felt so damn useless as she did then, the small boy trembling before, blood pouring profusely from his eyes and that god-forsaken, crimson-covered razor still clutched in his small fist...

Flashback

_He'd come in, eye wide with unseen terror of something she was unable to understand. She herself still sat in the barber's chair, hands clamped to the arms, unable to move._

_"Forget my face." He'd said. The man covered in blood she had just seen so ruthlessly kill the man she hated. Who had taken her in all those years ago and locked her away. She squinched her eyes shut against the bloody images, trying to make them fade, to go away. Begging to some higher force to just **forget the damn face**._

_And then the boy came in, stumbling as he did so, crying hysterically and mumbling something she couldn't understand. A name perhaps? Began with an "L" she was sure of that. He'd fallen to his knees and her eyes opened then to his pathetic form shaking on the floor. He was crawling, oblivious to her being there. _

_And she froze again upon seeing him, seeing the blood that tracked across his clothes. And for a unknown reason, she knew it wasn't his. That the darkness of it just didn't seem to match the small, innocent face. But she still couldn't move, no matter how angelic he looked to her at that moment, the blood on him making her own turn to ice._

_He scrambled forward towards the vanity table, the name on his lips more pronounce. Lovett? Yes, that was it. He was crying out for a Mrs. Lovett. For God. She turned and watched him, her muscles weak, even though her brain was shrieking at her that this wasn't good. That something was going to go terribly wrong, and is she didn't move fast there was going to be no time to stop it._

_He'd reached forward, hands groping a box and spilling it to the floor, four or five razors spilling from the inside. One landed near the leg of the chair and she took her eyes away for a moment to stare at it as it shone up at her. The glinting seemed almost taunting, like the cunning smile of a fox. And then the boy was there again, a razor open, the blade clasped in a violently shaking hand._

_"No..." She murmured, her legs feeling like lead. She struggled against whatever held her down as the boy looked down at the razor, crazed eyes staring at as if it were his only salvation. Johanna began to cry, not knowing why, and yet knew at the same time. This poor boy had seen too much, couldn't take it all, and it was eating at him. 'Get up, get up, get up, GET UP!' The voice screamed in her ear._

_She was halfway out of the seat, nearly dragging herself as she did so, when he plunged the razor into his right eye. He let out a ghastly cry that echoed off the walls of the room, blood surging forward. He yanked the razor out and stabbed it in again, and all the strength seemed to leave her entirely. He wrenched it out again and thrust deeply once more before yanking again. This time, there was a sickening wet plop and something made a soft thud on the floor as it rolled to a stop._

_It was her turn to scream as a bloody eye stared dully back at her. Small strings of muscle that had once held the eye in, were now dangling from the end with frayed tips. Johanna kept screaming, a hand going to her mouth to try and muffle it as she looked up. He was already working on his left, yanking out, thrusting in, yanking out, thrusting in. And finally, there came another wet -POP- and the mangled orb hit the floor, the boy along with it._

_She immediately threw up. Her stomach gave a nasty lurch, and she went down on her hands and knees, throwing up whatever she had kept down for the past few days. It set her throat on fire, her stomach knotting painfully as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes. She was surprised she didn't end up retching her stomach onto the floor. And as she looked up, everything hurting so damn much, she was met with a sight she would never forget as long as she lived._

_The painful sight of a young boy, covered in blood, his own and someone else's, squirming about on the floor. A razor still clenched in his fist, jabbing at his empty, red sockets as if on insticnt. He was screaming, shaking, fingers raking at the skin of his cheeks as if trying to pry it off._

_She was shrieking again, crying for help, her throat going raw. She didn't know what she was calling out. For all she knew it could be a jumbled mass of syllables that didn't make sense. But as long as it got someone's attention, it would work. She was at the boy side immediately, his small form writhing around on the floor, his face tight in pain as his own screams mixed with hers. She ripped the cuff of her jacket, placing them over each bleeding socket, and presses, crying now as he struggled against her._

_She wasn't sure how long she held him like that, how long he clawed at her, trying to shake her off. She didn't know where the strength came from, or how it got there, but she held him down. And then suddenly, arms were pulling her away, hands holding her and trying to calm her. Shadows moved about the room, going to the boy who was still trembling on the floor. She had to get back to him, be there for him. She struggled against whoever held her._

_"Johanna! Johanna!" A voice broke through her thoughts and protests. She looked up, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Antony was staring down at her, holding her tight. His face was scared, worry and pain written across his pale features. She kissed him then, closing her eyes against it, trying to erase everything that had just happened...that was going to happen. Trying to erase the mounting fear in his eyes._

_Forget my face._

_How could she forget the face that had done this?_

End Flashback

Johanna hugged her knees, crying softly into them. Sweeney had gotten up now, unsure of what to say. But what was there? What could he say? After that? There was nothing.

"He told me everything eventually," She whispered, not looking at him, "About you, about Mrs. Lovett." She still wouldn't look at him, and he didn't push it. He just stared down at her, his heart sinking rapidly in his chest. People so young shouldn't have to go through this kind of pain. It was so unfair, so cruel. Sweeney looked towards the stairs, his mind's eye picturing a horrid image of eyeless sockets gazing in his direction, all because of him. He could see the scars about the boy's face, see the pain left there.

"May I?" Sweeney gestured towards the stairs. he didn't wait for Johanna to answer, already knowing she wouldn't. She didn't look up either, but that was expected. Sweeney took the steps slowly, one at a time, his mind blanking as his eyes scaled the wall around him. The paper had yellowed even more so over the years, peeling off the wall and hanging limply.

The room above had not changed either it seemed. Except the chair was gone, the vanity as well. There were two beds now, one on either side of the room. The hatch that had opened up on the floor was now covered with a small rug, surfacing long forgotten memories. Toby sat on the one in the far corner, the light from the window splaying down on him. His head was bowed, a roll of bandages in his hands, the old one still wrapped about his face.

"You think me a coward." Toby said first, breaking the silence. Five words seemed to slice the air like a knife, making it ripple with intensity. Sweeney took a step forward and then pulled away. He was unsure.

"No." He answered bluntly, not sure why he did so. But it did get a reaction. Surprise washed over Toby's face, his form trembling in fear slightly. Sweeney took a step and kept it this time, testing his movements.

"No, not a coward," Sweeney spoke carefully, "A boy still, yes. But never a coward." He was standing now two feet in front of Toby. The boy had gone rigid, face fearful and concerned. His hands had turned white from the harsh grip on the roll of bandages.

"If anyone is the coward, it is I." The words shocked him just as much as it seemed Toby. He was the coward? He was the one who wanted to slit throats on a daily basis, didn't mind walking around covered in blood, had blatantly accepted the help of a woman whom he hated, and had worked his way back to the very place he had started it all and he called himself the coward? Yes, yes he did.

Because a coward ran away. He ran away from Mrs. Lovett, the one person who had understood him and had offered herself to him. She was giving him another chance at love, and he had run. He was the coward. Toby had had great potential, a good worker, and yet he had feared what the boy had known, ready with a razor if needed. He was the coward. He had killed others because it settled his nerves, never daring to venture beyond the unknown of what he was doing. He was the coward.

And here he was now, unable to say much more, his mouth dry. He wanted to turn around and walk away, never come back. Nothing seemed important now. How did he get back here? Who gave a damn when he could just walk away. How was he alive? Who gave a damn as long as he wasn't here while he was living. He wanted to forget everything and just settle, stop trying to answer impossible questions that seemed to have no answer in the first place.

Yes, he was the coward. Sweeney Todd, Benjamin Barker, was the coward.

"How? How is it possible?" Toby was crying, his bandages turning a sallow gray as they became wet. Sweeney forced a small smirk, deciding to play the game he had played oh so well all those years ago.

"Hell isn't my kind of place."

* * *

Ah, so what does it mean "deciding to go back to the game he had played oh so well all those years ago"? Is he going to do something he regrets? Something I may regret? Or something else perhaps? And will Johanna ever get up? Yeah she will. 

Look forward to the next chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: Damn it all! My cough won't go away! It makes me sad...

Also, totally updated my profil in case anyone's interested! Decided that my old info. was getting quite...how do you say? Drole? That works.

**THANK YOU!!!** I really haven't gotten around to saying that as often as I should. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers! I love you all to death!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Sweeney would be damned if he didn't think he saw a smirk grace across Toby's face, before disappearing. He didn't know why he did what he did next, but he did anyway. He sat himself down next to the young man, eyeing the wild tufts of dark hair on his head with some amusement.

(_It was still unkempt like those many years ago when Toby lay on the floor, an almost empty bottle of gin crushed to his side._)

Ah, sweet memories.

"Johanna said..." Sweeney stared down at the bandages and up to Toby's face, "Could I...?" A silent question that need not be finished, that had Toby going still and his breathing hitch. It didn't matter, it never had. No matter how comfortable he was trying to get himself with Toby, both were too sensitive about the other. Toby would always be frightened of him. Sweeney...well Sweeney would always have that _itch_. That damned itch that make his fingers twitch and disperse such mild annoyances...

"Put the blade down." Came from Toby's mouth in response. And Sweeney smiled, actually _smiled_ for what felt like the first time in ages. And he wouldn't lie in saying that it didn't hurt. Because it did, muscles unused for such movement. Hell, he hadn't smiled like that since he'd last been with Lucy. And that had been...twenty-one? Twenty-two? And he was in his forties somewhere now, so it had been a while.

"Of course." Sweeney reached to his belt, removing the blade...and then the other along with it. Toby's frowned at this, turning his face away, knuckles turning white again as he gripped the sheets. Sweeney placed them on the floor, staring down at them as he did so. They were so close, yet seemed so far that if Johanna or perhaps Toby decided to relieve him of any life he had left, the could damn well do it.

"Where have you been all these years?" It was a hushed whisper, Sweeney's finger delicately pulling away the bandages from Toby's face.

(_Round, and round, and round it goes. Where it shall stop, no body knows._)

"Dead." Plain and simple. Because he had been. He'd been dead. And not dead as in tired or exhausted to the point of losing the ability of moving, and losing consciousness of the world around you. Dead as in corpse, coffin, grave, and dirt. All that good stuff. That's what he meant by dead.

"Oh...ok?" There was still question in the boy's voice. He didn't understand, not that Sweeney expected him to. He hardly understood it himself, knowing damn well the question that nagged at the back of his mind. He'd get it answered eventually, but for now, he was associating himself with time he had lost.

"With an elderly woman now if that better answers your question." Sweeney sighed, aggravated by the bandages. Johanna no doubt was the sweet girl he knew that she had grown to be, but her medical skills were irksome. She obviously had no idea how to wind bandages as they were laid over one another in different directions. Left, right, diagonal, up, and down. Every which way.

(_Round, and round, and round it goes. Where it shall stop, nobody knows._)

"A woman? May I ask who it is?" Toby seemed to smile at Sweeney's impatient, already the subject to such irritating wrapped bandages many times before. Sweeney made a soft grunting noise, giving the him the go ahead that it was alright if he asked that question.. He didn't really care if Toby asked about Janice, but he knew he'd put limits down on what he said. Toby finding out that he was doing his "job" once more, would most likely disturb the boy...and have Johanna standing in the room with that bloody damn knife again.

"You may." Sweeney replied. Toby's brow furrowed and then it dawned on him. He gave somewhat of a cheeky smile. Two could play at this game. Let the banter and bereavements begin.

"Who is she? Perhaps a lover?"

"If you call a woman in her seventies or so a lover." Sweeney wrinkled his nose in distaste. He restrained himself from smacking the flushed smile off Toby's face. Arrogant, little-

"I could've sworn you were reaching that age yourself back when the shop was flourishing." Toby jested with a small laugh. It was an airy sound, like the breeze over the ocean. Such a vivid picture of blue-green waves lapping a crisp shore brought on sudden images of Mrs. Lovett to him. He could see her there, toes wriggling in the sand as she smiled...

Sweeney _did_ smack him this time. Right upside the head. Toby nearly choked on his own giggles, biting his fist to prevent further harm to himself.

"Do not patronize me boy," Sweeney snapped, reveling in the fact he was reaching, finally, the last layer of bandage, "Besides, if I'm correct she's much more interested in younger men such as yourself. They satisfy her needs better." The words brought on a look of horror to Toby's voice. He scowled immediately.

"That's not funny."

"Neither is it when you make fun of my age."

"You sound like a girl."

"You look like one."

"I do _not_!" Toby protested, folding his arms across his chest. Sweeney smirked, knowing he'd one. He took some sort of sick triumph to it, knowing that he'd conquered the boy. But then again, what could one expect from the young people? They always charged so blindly into everything.

And had Sweeney not pulled the bandages away then, he would've laughed at the irony.

It was as bad as he feared. Worse, actually. So much worse. In fact, his mind hadn't even been able to contemplate such damage as his eyes looked over Toby's face. The skin was completely tattered and adorned with scars, white and glistening about his eyes and upper cheeks. The ragged lines stretched over the bridge of his nose, where the bone dented inwards.

The eyes...they weren't there. The no longer _existed_, just empty sockets that seemed to glower back at him from the depths of Hell.

Inside the sockets it looked as if a war had been conducted in there. Scars outlined every angle and curve, deep gouges so obvious. In fact, the blade had pierced so harshly in some areas the scars had actually turned hazy blacks and purples. They looked almost like worm-like bruises if you looked at them.

Sweeney could do nothing but stare, the wasted bandages curling between his fingers forgotten. The new role hit the floor as it slipped from his lap and rolled away with a soft crunching sound. A small -THUD- from the corner signaled it had fallen over and now lay still. The air seemed oddly heavy, and Sweeney didn't think he could breathe just right. He'd seen so many horrible things in his..."lifetime", but this, this had to be up there on the top three.

How someone could do this to themselves? Someone who had been so young as to that matter as well. Thirteen at the most. Maybe even twelve. That kind of pain, it was on another level that Sweeney wasn't sure he could ever comprehend.

"I'll take care of it from here Mr. Todd." Johanna was in the door way. She came over to them, her ragged dress sweeping about her feet as she took the tarnished bandages from Sweeney and threw them away. She fetched the clean role, her lips pressing together in a tight line as she did so. It was obvious she was trying not to cry again. God damn it, so like Lucy.

"You never answered me you know." Toby cut in, wincing a bit as Johanna stood before him and began to wind the bandages. Sweeney couldn't speak right then though. Didn't think he would be able to for a while. He just watched as Johanna gently rewrapped the bandages about his face, hiding away the scars, and broken tissue, and dented bone. He was still a handsome boy, that was the truth. But such destruction to his lovely face was...

Nightmarish.

"What...question?" Sweeney managed to get out, his throat feeling dry, raspy.

"The woman? Who is she?" Toby asked, fingers idly playing with a wrinkle in Johanna's dress. Johanna's eyes seemed to light up with interest at the words and she stared sideways at Sweeney. Her curiosity was sparked.

"Janice. Janice Crawly." Somehow the reaction he got was not one he was expecting. Johanna froze, her brow immediately crinkling as she turned to stare at him directly. Toby's went very still, his face almost unreadable except for what Sweeney would call confusion. Johanna opened her mouth a few times, but kept clamping it with a snap.

"You...you're living...Janice?" The words came like a fumbled stream from Johanna's mouth. The strips were left to hang limply in her hand. Toby was scowling again, something very close to fear settling itself back on his face. There was something wrong. And by the damn near close to identical looks on both Toby and Johanna's faces, it wasn't good.

"You know her?" Sweeney inquired.

"Who doesn't?" Toby spat, looking angry and uncomfortable. Johanna resumed wrapping Toby's head, her face gone quite blanched. She looked as if she were going to be sick, but at the same time yell at him.

"Living with that vile woman...no surprise..." She huffed. Toby winced as she tugged a little too hard. She mumbled an apology and Sweeney could do nothing but sit there. He had drawn to a complete blank.

"Is there something wrong?" Like with Darren, Sweeney felt the slight urge to at least defend Janice. She had after all saved him from death. Well, if that's what you wanted to call it. Technically he was already dead. So maybe it was better to say she saved him from over-kill. She had given him shelter and food. And she had assisted him in his murders so far, so he had to be sort of grateful for that.

"Of course _not_," Johanna bit back, looking upset, "I mean if you prefer to live with someone like her, that's your own business not mine." Sweeney didn't understand.

"Living with a wench like that...so damn predictable." Sweeney had the feeling her unwelcoming tone was amounting to something else entirely. That this was not about him, but that was where she was taking it. Toby sighed, squeezing one of Johanna's hands.

"I don't see what's wrong," Sweeney retorted, "Seeing as yes, I do suppose she's crazy, she's the one who-"

"Well if you like living with un-convicted mass-murderers, by all means, be my guest Mr. Todd!" Johanna said with a wild wave of the arms. Sweeney frowned, still not understanding. Mass murderer? What in the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? Johanna obviously saw the confusion in his eyes, and she glared at him. It was plain to see that she thought he was trying to fool her, lie to her.

"They never had enough evidence." Toby cut in. Johanna shot him a look, and he seemed to sense it and went quiet.

"You don't _need_ the evidence to throw a woman like _that_ away. Un-convicted my arse," Johanna bit out, "Someone who can kill like that without remorse deserves to be put away for the rest of their lives."

Sweeney's frown deepened.

"No offense Mr. Todd."

(_Round, and round, and round it goes. Where it shall stop, no body knows._)

* * *

Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnn...hmmm? What's this? Janice? A killer? Who knew! XDXD 


	17. Chapter 17

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: Yay! Update! I would've gotten it up sooner, but as fate would have it, I went to a friends house for three days and two nights. And because of the snow on Friday, I ended up staying another night so no one would get hurt coming to get me or driving me home.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVED it and I LOVE my friend, but I nearly suffered computer/internet/yaoi withdrawel at her place...I'm surprised I'm still alive LOL

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

"A mass murderess you say?" Sweeney pushed the "no offense" to the back of his mind. It was going to itch at him later, of course, but for now it could wait. Johanna frowned then, but it was directed at him. She had the look of someone who was thinking a little too hard for their own good. Not that he was calling her stupid, but more so because she was delving a little to deep than was necessary.

Sweeney stared, fascinated. She looked so much like Lucy then, it was startling. He could clearly remember her on the mornings when his love was still round with child. How he would laugh as her face contorted sharply as she thought hard for even the most simplest of things. The hormones that raged through her body were overwhelming and being picky was something she became an expert at...

"Well it's not as if- Mr. Todd? Mr. Todd are you listening?" Johanna had stopped her frowning, turning it into a small parted 'O' of annoyance. Sweeney's eyes stopped their glazed over look and settled on Johanna. Her brow was furrowed, her small hands in his. Toby was up now, across the floor, and out the door before Sweeney could even blink.

Sweeney took a breath, unable to register where he was at the moment. Johanna gave him a sweet smile, and everything returned to normal. No Lucy, no round belly, just him, his daughter, and the grimy old shop. Sweeney wondered if he had the right to call Johanna his daughter, especially seeing as he damn near scared the poor girl out of her skin.

"Johanna..." Sweeney sighed, taking his hands away. Her lips became a tight line and she folded her fingers in her lap. He had said her name with so much fervor, so much loss, and so much love, Johanna knew there had to be something behind it. She was working up the courage to ask what was the meaning behind such heartfelt pain, but he beat her to it.

"A mass murderess you say?" He inquired, repeating his question from earlier. The air felt thick again, too much tension and pressure. Johanna looked away towards the window where gray light flooded about the room in hopes of easing it a little. All her heart did was jump faster as she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"They didn't have enough evidence that she had killed them. Couldn't even find the bodies," Johanna sighed, her shoulder slumping like his hand weighed a ton, " But I just...I don't understand how-how you just let her walk away when _**fourteen **_damn people go _**missing**_." Johanna trembled under the thought, but decided to blame it on the draft coming through the thin curtains.

"Fourteen..." Sweeney repeated the number, giving a small grunt after it. It wouldn't be until later when that Sweeney would laugh at such a sound. It only signified how impressed he truly was with Janice. Fourteen wasn't a bad number. In fact, it was pretty damn good. Great in fact, and even better because she actually got to _walk away_. And him? Well, he had died. And if he hadn't? He could say he'd be rotting in Australia...again...

"She's dangerous, I just know she is," Johanna was looking at him again, her face hard, "Be careful Mr. Todd. She's well known for being rash. I bet that's half the reason why she killed them all."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. It's called woman's intuition."

"My God, you're far too much like your mother." Sweeney chuckled. He hadn't quite realized what he'd said until Johanna questioned him. And as soon as she did, he wished he could take them back. He'd never meant to say it, it had just slipped. Sometimes Sweeney wondered what the hell got him through life in the first place if he could be so careless.

"How do you know my mother?" It was tight, like her throat was closed off. Like she couldn't quite breath properly, or that someone told her something that was beyond horrible. Sweeney froze eyes locking with hers as he searched for words. None came to mind, so the silence only got thicker, longer.

"Johanna?" Toby was at the door again, and thank god for the lad. For once in his life, Sweeney wanted to kiss the boy. Like he was miracle messenger from God of some sort. Johanna stood, a small sway to her step as straightened. Sweeney reached out and caught her by the upper arm to steady her. She jerked away, not looking at him.

"Yes Toby?"

"There's someone at the door." Toby answered. It wasn't until now that Sweeney saw how pale the boy looked. And was he shaking? Was that sweat? Johanna seemed to see it too as she went rigid. She was tugging at Sweeney's hand, apparently all but forgotten the previous tension in the room. She gazed at him a little frantically, her eyes zipping back and forth from the door to him.

Sweeney stood, a ready hand already at his belt. Johanna eyed him skeptically, but said nothing. She knew, if it was needed, it was best to be prepared. Toby automatically, in an action that made Sweeney jump, clung to Sweeney's arm in a fashion much like that of a child who had just encountered a nightmare. Sweeney raised an eyebrow at Johanna who smiled again, but it disappeared as the hall became the stairway.

"Stay here." Sweeney cocked the blade from his belt and descended slowly and left the others in the safety of the shadows. Sweeney made a face each time the stairs creaked and would freeze so as not to seem too out of place. He slipped down as quietly as possible and edged himself against the far wall. Cocking his head, Sweeney managed to catch a good look of the store out of the corner of his eyes.

Janice.

For Christ's sake it was Janice. She stood in the middle of the room, the pink bonnet from the store tied about her head. She was gazing about the room, wrinkling her nose every time she came upon something..."distasteful" as she always liked to put it.

"Is that-" The words jolted to a halt as Johanna's breath was suddenly in his ear. Janice perked, a head wrenching in their direction. Before he even knew what he was doing, Sweeney had Johanna pinned against the wall, a hand over her mouth. Johanna's eyes grew wide and she struggled for a moment before Sweeney put a finger to his lips. Silence, it demanded.

"Mr. Todd? Mr. Todd is that you?" Janice called from the main room. Sweeney took Johanna by the upper arm and yanked her into the next room. He remembered it full well from when Mrs. Lovett had offered him gin after a taste of her meat pies. Ale wasn't doing damn thing, so she had lead him into the next room for something stronger.

It smelled of mothballs and some stuffy smell he couldn't quite place. Johanna nearly tripped as they maneuvered through the furniture and into what used to be Mrs. Lovett's room. Sweeney looked over his shoulder, before grabbing onto the knob and twisting.

It wouldn't budge. Sweeney jiggled impatiently, looking at Johanna who was eyeing the door frantically. He shook her lightly and she drew her eyes away and to the knob, where she frowned. He reached out, wrenching, but even in her own grip, it refused to move. Giving a small sigh of anger, Johanna looked back at the door and then to Sweeney.

"Why can't we-"

"It's been like that for years." She whispered, eyes going to the floor.

"Mr. Todd?" Janice called from just outside the room. Thinking wildly, Sweeney gripped the top of Johanna's head, curled his fingers in her hair and shoved her down. She huddled behind the couch, massaging her scalp and glaring up at him. But she immediately went blank when footsteps came into the room.

"Mr. Todd, there you are! I was getting worried! Where were you Love?" Janice smiled at him, but Sweeney made no move to return it. His eyes just swept the room, feigning interest un his surroundings. Show a message to her through his face. Janice was a smart woman, she'd get it eventually.

"Ah, I see. It's been a while for you hasn't it," Janice's eyes glowed with pity, but the smile seemed painted to her face, "Looks like it was a nice place." Sweeney nodded, keeping himself from straying a glance at Johanna. Janice looked about the place, following his gaze.

"Yes, a rather nice place..." She turned back to him, holding out a hand, "Come along, it's about time we headed home. We can visit another day." Sweeney blinked, and shook his head. No words spared, just movement. Janice's eyes immediately narrow, and her hands are on her hips.

"You will listen to me Mr. Todd, or so help me that pretty little daughter of yours won't be so beautiful once I get my hands on her," Janice threatened, her voice monotonous, "Neither will you. And I would hate to destroy the image of you that I adore. My son would never have pulled this, not my sweet little Jared."

"I'm not your son." Sweeney looked to Johanna. There was no use in trying to hide. Janice obviously knew she was there. And it was just as possible she knew Toby was hidden away at the top of the stairs. Johanna's mouth was hanging open, a look of disbelief and distraught settling on it.

"Oh Johanna...I loved your mother." Was all he could say. Johanna only stared, eyes wide like an owl. Her jaw hung slack, and she could do nothing more than gape. Sweeney pushed past her as she stood, and the smirk on Janice's face was something Sweeney wanted to smack off. _No one_ was ever allowed to look at his daughter like that, especially not Janice.

"She's a pretty one ain't she?" Janice inquired as they approached the entrance to the shop. Sweeney froze, heated anger bubbling up inside him. Yes, she was very pretty. No, Janice was not allowed to talk about her, much less in that tone of voice.

"Bet she looks a lot like her mother." For Christ's sake, _shut up_. Sweeney made opened the door, stepping back and gesturing for her to walk out first. Janice gave a smile and nodded, sweeping up her skirts and heading out. Sweeney looked to the door where Johanna stood, her face white. Toby was beside her now, holding her up. She looked as if she were going to throw up.

Sweeney let his eyes linger about the room, drinking in its features. His eyes crossed something then, on the shelf high above the counter where the pies used to be made. More towards where the stairs that lead to the oven down below. It was a picture frame, and within in it was a (low and behold) a black and white picture of a man and woman.

The woman had blonde hair which Sweeney could easily identify as Johanna. She wore a beautiful white gown, a long flowing train that came down from a crown upon her head that covered the long golden curls (that looked white within the picture). She was smiling brilliantly, and her eyes were not to the camera, but to the man beside her, who was staring into her eyes as well.

The man was slim, tall, and broad-shouldered. His face was familiar, but Sweeney couldn't quite place him. The hair that framed his face came to just about his collar-bone, and it was dark, but not anything near black. Something that he might have considered a reddish collar, or a very light brown with a strawberry tinge. Even in a photo with a lack of color, it was still possible to see even the smallest of details.

The face was still so damn familiar, Sweeney knew it was going to keep him up at night.

"You coming Mr. Todd?" Janice was at the door step, shaking a hand over her shoulder where Geoffrey waited with the carriage. The cowardly bastard was looking at the ground, stroking the horse's mane with a shaky hand. Sweeney smirked, and then looked to where Johanna and Toby stood. Johanna had taken to staring at the picture as well, a look of sadness and happiness mixed together in her eyes. She felt Sweeney's faze and stared at him.

"I'll be back," Sweeney said, and pointed to the picture, "A father deserves to know what his daughter's been doing these past years."

Sweeney was surprised to see a small smile grace Johanna's face, and her head begin to nod.

Toby was smiling with her.

* * *

Anyone want to know what's happening next? Or who the man in the picture is? You get a cookie if you guess right!!! ...a "cyber" cookie that is XDXD 


	18. Chapter 18

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: **So sorry!!! _(cries) _My computer broke on Friday, as it refused to turn on (seeing as I broke it LOL) and I was unable to get ANYTHING up! I'm surprised I didn't die of withdrawel and a heart attack XDXD**

**Again, so sorry I didn't get the chapter up as soon as you'd and I'd like to! FORGIVE!**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Night had fallen, along with another victim, who now lay in the mucky trench outback. A young man in his early years, no more than twenty-five at the least. Born an orphan, he had stayed that way only to take up business in a shoe making industry. He was miserable and did nothing but complain right up until he died. For once, Sweeney actually felt like he did someone a favor.

Poor boy never saw it coming. Wallowing in his own self pity, it was so easy. Almost too much so. His eyes went wide, hands grasping at his throat wildly before he gave a jerky shout and went slack, and then falling off the chair completely. Janice stood in the doorway and watched on steadily as Sweeney moved about his work.

She had been acting strange since they arrived home the two days before. She talked very little, and when they did, she never met his eyes. She seemed upset and closed off, and even Geoffrey had the gall to glower at Sweeney whenever he walked by. Although it dissipated every time Sweeney would return it ten fold. He could really care less, and was more hopeful as to return to Fleet Street as soon as possible.

This night had been the same. Dinner was eaten in silence, and Janice had retired before Sweeney could prod her with questions on a return trip to Fleet Street. Geoffrey did the dishes and laid out in front of the fire place, ignoring Sweeney entirely. Not that he really cared, but it still irked him in a way that made his fingers twitch and made him see silver.

So here he was now, lying in bed, mind in a constant doze but never sleeping. There was something wrong that Sweeney couldn't quite put his finger on it. Something seemed out of place, something bad, something...bad. Like the cosmos had shifted, tilting only a little and knocking aside the standards that everyone liked to call "normal".

It didn't take long before Sweeney figured it out.

He hadn't heard the door open, his mind easing ever so carefully towards sleep. His body was relaxed and limp, the world nothing but a blur. He could hardly make out the quiet ramblings as they turned into a low hum in the background, almost soothing. Sweeney's limbs felt weighed down with lead and he barely had time to register the fact they seemed to be moving on their own.

The first flare of pain nearly had Sweeney flying off the bed. And he probably would have had he not been bound...to the bed. His brain awoke with a scream that threatened to burst from his mouth before a gnarly hand was clamped over his mouth. The room swirled into view, everything slowly accustoming to the darkness that was lit by a single candle near his head.

Janice was leaning over him, her mouth moving, but he could hear nothing. It was if the world had gone completely mute. She was holding something in her hand that shone as red as the clouds at dawn. Just beneath the scarlet coat, Sweeney could see the ever so familiar silver he loved...and he watched in horror as it raked over his now bare abdomen.

The pain ricocheted from the ends of every strand of hair to the very tips of his toes. As the world became more acute and his senses awoke in painful outcries, Sweeney could make out some words to Janice's ravings. But he didn't have time to put them together as the razor drug from the top of his shoulder, down and around to his elbow. Blood immediately pooled out and stained the white sheets.

"You don't want to make mommy mad, do you sweetheart? Do you Jared?" Janice whispered crazily, the blood decorating her fingers in sick designs. Sweeney could only watch with gritted teeth, his head pounding wildly and every nerve aflame.

"You need to listen to mommy, not leave her. That's just mean Jared," Janice hissed, the razor dipping into Sweeney's palm and marking a large "X", "You don't want me to hurt you, do you? Mommy doesn't like to hurt her baby." Sweeney gave a strangled shout as the razor came down harshly and gouging the soft flesh of his upper arm.

"Please listen to me Jared. Be nice to mommy," Janice was crying now, streaks of blood now on her face as she palmed her cheek, "Be nice to mommy, and everything will be ok. I promise." Sweeney struggled against the bonds that held him down, his eyes narrowed in pain and concentration. The razor made a small incision across his side. Grunting with effort, Sweeney managed to connect his foot with the bedpost, the sound making a hollow thud that echoed about the walls.

Janice froze and straightened. Her blue eyes were dull and crazed, the look of years wasted and gone by hiding inside them. She frowned and stepped away, staring at Sweeney as if he were some piece of art she just sculpted. As if he were a painting she were planning to put up in the living room.

"Listen and all will be well my son. I promise."

There was no sleep for the rest of the night. The cuts weren't bad, as Sweeney discovered when he finally managed to wrench an arm from the binds. The worst was the one on his arm, but it wasn't even deep enough to even be considered to wear stitches. Neither were the rest. His razors were sharp and even with the slightest contact, you could easily cut yourself.

* * *

As was proven just hours before. Although thin and fine were the wounds, that didn't make them throb or pulse any less painlessly. They stung when you touched them, and the ache screeched whenever he moved ay that would agitate them. Bandaging them had to be the worst seeing as maneuvering around to make sure he got them all tightly wrapped only succeeded in actually making some bleed through.

"You feeling alright Love? You slept a little late this morning." Janice glanced at the clock on the wall where it read half past eleven. Sweeney glared at her, freezing when something unfamiliar-

(_panic_)

raced through his chest. She raised an eyebrow at him, sipping her tea. Something in her expression asked what he was doing, what he was thinking. But did he know? Did she know? How could she not? Janice stood then, eyeing him cautiously.

"Are you alright? Mr. Todd...Mr. Todd! You're shirt," Janice exclaimed, "What's happened!?" Sweeney looked down, uttering a long string of curses through his teeth. Damn it all, the gash on his side had bled right through-

(_again, damn it, again_)

and onto his shirt. Janice held out a rag from the sink, holding against his side before he could protest. Sweeney winced, inhaling sharply.

"What happened?" '_You_ happened.' A voice spat in the back of his head. Sweeney shook his head instead, grinding his teeth as Janice tenderly prodded at the wound. He emitted a low growl when she pressed down sharply.

"_What_ happened Mr. Todd?"

"Nothing short of an accident." Sweeney replied, ignoring her overly angered stare. She drew away, refolding the rag and pressing it down again. It immediately melted into pity as Sweeney grimaced, looking out the window to a blue sky and growing clouds in the distance. It was going to rain. There really _was_ no place like London.

"You poor baby," Janice cooed quietly, "I bet a nice visit this coming weekend to Fleet Street would be nice, eh?" Sweeney's head snapped back, his mind reeling. Fleet Street did she say? Oh God yes, that'd be lovely. Johanna. Toby. Family. Yes, yes, yes. Fleet Street sounded ever so beautiful right then. Janice looked at him expectantly, and Sweeney devoured any and all emotion off his face and nodded. She smiled, her lips drawn in a tight line.

"Just don't go running off like that again, alright Love? Listen to me, it'll make everything all better," Janice muttered, pressing down almost harder than necessary, "I promise." Sweeney stared at her, arching a brow. She only smiled, fingernails suddenly digging into his flesh. Sweeney glared and wrenched away, almost surprised to see the shock on the old woman's face.

No. He was done with these games. He would play a little longer, but not much more so. Sometimes the game got old if nothing new popped up to entertain you differently. Janice would soon serve as such entertainment.

I mean, as long as she didn't get to him first.

* * *

"Mr. Pickard? Kindly have the carriage ready for a trip to Fleet Street this coming Saturday." Janice informed, piling logs into the fire. It had been a while since she had done anything so laborious, but with the trips they-

(_Sweeney Todd and Janice Crawly_)

had been making to her "best place", gathering a little more muscle on the bone seemed like a good thing. They had another body to go up tonight. That poor young orphaned man she knew would be gone as soon as she laid eyes on him. Such a nasty little complainer. Janice couldn't stand those types. He was gone quick.

"Of course. May I ask why Missus?" Geoffrey asked, patting the mare's rump and watched her slowly trot away to her daughter. Nuzzling the smaller horse's nose, Geoffrey couldn't help but smile. There had been a time where he had seen such a devotion in his own Miss Crawly's eyes, as she gently rocked herself and Jared in the living room rocking chair, a goodnight story between them as they boggled over the pictures in childish ways.

"To Fleet Street." The answer made Geoffrey's eyes widen. Janice only nodded, watching the horses stand side by side, their breaths coming in shirt puffs into the air. Her own was doing the same, the chilled September air slowly venturing into the icy October.

"After he blew you off like last time Missus? Are you sure?"

"Of course. Don't be silly. I let him go."

"You...let him?"

"He wanted to explore. I wanted a hat." Janice smiled. She'd wear the new bonnet this coming weekend. It was supposed to be nice, sunny and all. Seeing Fleet Street bathed in light gold might do wonders to Sweeney's mood. You never know with a man like him.

"I though he ran off by himself."

"He's a man Mr. Pickard. He can do as he pleases," Janice huffed, crossing her arms, "I just wish he'd listen to me a bit more." She whispered the last part to herself. Although, she was sure Geoffrey heard as he looked up, curiosity shining in his eyes. He was so close to death, it was almost funny that he couldn't sense it. Janice would protect him, but she couldn't guarantee forever. Especially with her own life in danger.

"Have the carriage ready promptly at eight, yes?" Geoffrey nodded. Janice grinned, sweeping up her skirts and heading back to the house. Geoffrey watched her go, something close to patheticy and and pity in his eyes. With a shake of the head he looked towards the rear windows of the house where he was more than certain the curtains flicked closed...

But not fast enough to hide the onyx eyes that glared out at him from within.

Like a demon from Hell.

Hungry and out for everything and anything it could get its hands on.

(_The demon was back_)

* * *

There we go...I hope this makes you all happy! I tried my best to make it all up to you! I hope this does the trick! 

Oh, and **CYBER COOKIES** for all those who guessed Anthony Hope was the man in the picture! (who else could it be? LOL)


	19. Chapter 19

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: I'm so close to **200 REVIEWS** I can smell it XDXD I'm only thirty or so off! Yippee!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

Janice had wrapped his hand and side up tight. Sweeney made sure to be careful and discreet so that she not find any of the other markings. It seemed that the previous night's events were wiped from her mind, like an eraser taken to the chalk board. A good clean swipe and -BAM- it's all gone.

And now, here he sat, glowering at the wall as the cuts that had been left untended throbbed aimlessly. The coming nights journey was going to be a tough one. And to think, just as he thought his body's strength was returning, the vile woman had to go and change that.

"Mr. Todd? You have another customer." Janice rapped on the door crisply, her voice made over with a sugar-sweet tone that made Sweeney grind his jaw. He knew it was just for show, but the very pitch and giggle to her voice made him cringe. He was more than sure the customer was feeling welcome at the moment.

"Ah, come in sir." Sweeney gestured inside to the chair he had set up in the middle of the room. The man smiled, tipped his hat and ventured inside. Janice was smiling, only something far more wicked and dastardly to it than the man's. Sweeney did not return it, but only slammed the door in her face in a way that had the newest customer raising an eye brow. Sweeney shot him a look that said not to interfere.

"The name's Dallas. Dallas Young." Before Sweeney could even consider shaking the man's hand, he had taken it and shaken it vigorously. Oh yes, Sweeney was going to enjoy offing this one. He was most likely in his mid-forties approaching his fifties rapidly (maybe already there), the gray starting to work its way into the fine blonde hair on his head. Several scowling lines inhabited his forehead, biting the skin, no doubt marks of the troublesome years of the past.

Sweeney watched Dallas curiously, as he removed a crumpled piece of paper and a small sack of coins from his pocket. He gestured to the heading, of the paper, smiling widely. Looked pretty damn confident and comfortable with someone who was wielding a blade that could take out your main artery.

Sweeney found it strange. Not even the men from back in the day had been so at ease. They all tended to get nervous and jumpy as soon as he let them in. Of course, they had a right to be, seeing as the last thing they ever saw that could be considered even close to daylight was the blunt clouds hovering outside the window above Sweeney's head.

"I do 'ope it means what it says," Dallas chuckled, "Closest shave I'll ever 'ave? Ya best not be talking out of your arse there my friend." Sweeney scowled at those words. How dare someone criticize his workings. _How_. _Dare_. _They_. More than a little put off, the anger boiling in the pit of his stomach, Sweeney made no noise as he pointed to the chair. Dallas nodded eagerly, already titling his head back and waiting.

"You know, I get my money back if I don't like it," Dallas pointed out blatantly with a smile, "It's only the polite thing to do, afta' all."

(_No more polite than cutting out your God damn throat, eh sir?_)

"I suppose so," Sweeney sighed as he decorated the man's face with the cream, "Of course."

"I mean, I already worked up the courage to come to the batty old woman's place," Dallas shrugged, "The least I deserve is the proper shave, don't ya think?"

"Not a friend of Janice's I'm guessing?" A smirk quirked at the corner of Sweeney's lips. He'd hadn't had such a chatty customer like this ever before. Not even when he had been Benjamin Barker. And no one smiled to easily as Dallas was doing so. Sweeney wondered what it would look like if he grazed his razor along those lips, watching the plush flesh rip and tear, blood always following in a wondrous succession.

"Well, of course she's like a nice 'ol lady," Dallas grinned, his eyes slipping closed as the razor brushed his chin, "But she's got...how do ya say? A reputation. Some crazy record that even makes the most out-of-mind lunatic cringe." Dallas laughed again, finishing it off with a sigh and a grunt as he wriggled a bit to get comfortable once more. Interesting. Perhaps this man will prove to be far more useful than expected.

"Had the biggest love-crush on her when I was young. She was such a gorgeous thing. Big 'ol blue eyes and lots of this crazy red hair," Dallas made some wild hand gesture under the curtain that Sweeney could not see, "God, she was always the talk of the town. She's what? Sixty-something now?"

"I figured her older than that."

"She looks it, but I'm fifty-three and she was sixteen when I was five," His blonde brow furrowed, the lines biting further into the skin, "So that makes her...sixty-four now? That seems about right." The slow pitter-patter of rain danced on the windows and Dallas cracked open one of his eyes and stared out.

"She's lost her luster." Sweeney drew the man back in, interested slightly in what he had to say.

"'ell, with the kind of life she 'ad, I wouldn't blame her. Poor girl," Dallas sighed and closed his eyes again, "I mean, 'er 'usband leaving 'er was harsh, her son dyin', and then all them eerie accusations that she was a killer. Life was rough. And even before it all started as well."

"Do you think she _did _kill them?" Sweeney inquired, wiping the blade and then brining it back down the man's neck. Dallas stiffened a bit, and Sweeney smiled. There it was, the unease. The fear that was slowly worming its way into the pit of his stomach, burning like a ball of fire.

"Well...I mean...it was a lo' 'o people. Living near a graveyard can do wonders for such disappearances, wouldn't ya say?"

"It is definitely something to consider," Sweeney nodded, "You were saying something about her from before times?" Dallas nodded, shifting again. He muttered something Sweeney couldn't quite catch, but for the oddest reason, it made him smile. The slightly fearful warble in those words made him fell triumphant. He loved his job.

"Yeah. Her fatha was the abusive type. Crazy bastard. Fit right in up at the 'ol cemetery. Even looked like a corpse if ya squinted at 'im just right," Dallas scowled, "I 'eard he used to rape her when she was li'l when her motha wasn't in "the mood" or being a good 'ol girl, as me own motha used to say."

"Really? Go on." Dallas seemed to enjoy the attention. Not only that, he seemed to know what he was talking about. Sure, the accent was hard to decipher at point, but hell. This was like a fountain spewing gold instead of rubies. Blackmail always made such a wondrous prize, didn't it?

"Died when she turned eight and her uncle came to stay with 'em. My motha always says he was thirsty for the girl's motha to open her little legs. Some say the uncle was no better than the fatha, an abusive man at the most. We'll never know, now will we?"

"No." Just keep him talking. It was getting interesting.

"She disappeared for a li'l while. Until she was eleven or so...maybe twelve. Came back more beautiful than ever, if you ask me." Dallas smiled again. Something perverse and intentional struck his face and Sweeney had a moment to contemplate the disgust that such people like Dallas existed. Funny. He would never be rid of them.

"Where did she go?"

"Eh, who knows? No one does. She just, stopped showin' up in town and people never saw 'er up at the cemetery. We all thought she died before she came back," Dallas gave a small hum as Sweeney dried off the side of his face, "But we all 'ad out ideas, ya know? We was all curious, o' course."

"And just what did you all come up with as the best choice?" Sweeney inquired, drying off the other side of Dallas's face while admiring his work. Closest damn shave he would bet the man ever had. He yanked off the curtain, giving Dallas a satisfactory smile.

"Well, it was always said she was taken away to 'ol Fogg's Asylum up there. Said she lost her mind before they put it back jus' right," Dallas rubbed his chin as he glanced into his reflection of the mirror Sweeney gave him, "Said her life drove her crazy and they 'ad to drag her kickin' and screamin' from her house. She looked damn well fine when she came back.

"Started callin' her uncle her fatha. He didn't seem to mind, and was even there at her weddin' day to give her away. Gave her this really nice nighty-gown too. All pretty and light. Still, the fact she could be crazy makes up for all the things that screwed her up, you know? She was so screwy, she thought her fatha's brotha was her own daddy/ Kinda sad when ya look at it."

"I see. Was she up there? Fogg's Asylum?"

"'ell, if I knew, I'd tell ya. But I don't," Dallas admired Sweeney's work with a faint grin, "I say sir, you 'ave definitely given me well worth my time and money. Maybe more." Sweeney nodded, his lips quirking. An asylum, he said? How intriguing, really. It seemed the perfect fit in all honesty.

"I'll be definitely setting up another appointment when I'm in need of a shavin' again." Dallas handed him the bag of money and headed for the door. The sound of footsteps must have roused Janice, who was standing outside the door, her hand poised to knock. The shock that flurried across her face was the first time Sweeney was sure he had ever saw her caught off guard. First time she ever looked so vulnerable.

"Good day to ya Miss," Dallas tipped his hat and walked away, "Be back soon, since my beard be growin' like a weed." She waited, her face unsure and surprise still catching her features in a rapid succession. For a moment she just opened her mouth and closed it, no sounds or words, just silence.

"You let him go, Love."

"That I did."

"Why?"

"Can't kill everyone who comes here." Sweeney offered, cleaning up his blade, now soaked in white rather than red. Janice was staring at him in such a way he thought maybe she was heart-broken. Her shoulders were slumped, her face fallen, and her eyes lost. She didn't understand even though it seemed she was trying.

"They'll get suspicious."

"They've been suspicious before Mr. Todd."

"Is that so. And just why is that?" Janice did not answer, and her gaze flicked to the floor. Something was dancing on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be said. But Sweeney knew she would never say it. Not unless she _wanted_ the to know.

"We still have another body to work on. Besides, he'll be back." Sweeney said roughly as he hung up the curtain. If you looked close enough you could see small red dots and even stains that stretched across the fabric. Janice nodded and looked back to him.

"Don't believe what they say."

"What do the say Janice?"

"They say...things. Evil things."

"True things?" Sweeney questioned. A flicker of anger and amusement suddenly flashed across Janice's face, wiping away the shock. It was fading away as if it had never existed, were never upon her old features.

"There's always the possibility, isn't there? But don't get you head wrapped around it Love. It's not worth it."

* * *

Oh you evil, crazy, son-of-a-bitch Janice LOL Trying to divert our poor Sweeney? I think you'll have to try a hell of a lot hard than that Miss Priss... 


	20. Chapter 20

Return Of The Demon 

* * *

A/N: Oh my God! I've hit **twenty chapters**! Score! (_pumps fist into the air_) And, again, I'm so close to **200 REVIEWS** I can almost touch it! **Help me get there!**

Much love to all those who have stuck by me this far. For those who have waited patiently while I get up chapters and to those who are reading it, thanks beyond words. **Expect chapter updates every Friday-Sunday.**

Much love to you all! 

* * *

Chapter Twenty 

Geoffrey had bouts in his life where he questioned how things came to be. He wasn't a religious man, which his mother had always frowned upon, but he could not deny that there was some higher force that was toying with everything down below. Including him. And Mr. Todd. And Janice. 

He was out at the stables (he always found his solace there), when he began to contemplate how he'd met Janice. He'd actually been working for her Uncle on his farm, tending to the animals and the children that bustled about them. Jack was the man's name. Jack Crawly, married Sarah Dainty and they had five boisterous children in less than seven years.

Sarah was a nice woman, rather pretty, and a bit plump about the edges. But Jack loved her, enough so they'd actually had children, even though Jack had drunkenly declared at the bars he'd never have a rug-rat of his own.

Geoffrey always thought Jack loved the children, either that or he was an amazing actor. And he knew Sarah loved them, her delight always so palpable when she found she was with child. It seemed that she should love the younglings more than anyone else, especially since she bore them all for nine long, hormone-treacherous months and then endured the most painful of labors upon earth. 

There was Ricky, Randy, Rita, Rover, and Rusty. Four boys and one girl, and all in that order. Geoffrey had never been sure what possessed them with the "R's" but he figured it was more out of amusement than anything else. And besides, if the children are going to have to depend on you for the rest of their lives, why not get a little revenge in the gaggle of their names, eh? 

Geoffrey had never wanted children (which his mother _also_ frowned upon). He loved Jack's children, but he didn't want any of his own. He wanted a nice quiet piece of land where he could live out the rest of his days when he got old, until his time eventually came. 

_**He had his justifiable reasons. And here, he will care to explain them to you...**_

And then, as the years past, Jack, who had gone to stay with a new widowed sister-in-law who had fallen ill, and her daughter, Sarah had passed away in his absence. She'd been carrying a basket of eggs down from a step ladder from the attic of the barn. 

It was an old thing and one of the steps snapped like a dry twig beneath her shoe and she'd tumbled down five feet before hitting the floor. Her ribs snapped like twigs, piercing her lungs and leaving her to drown in her own blood. 

Jack came home for the funeral, eyes red and teary, his children's the same. Geoffrey did his best to help out around the place when Jack was called back to care for his sick in-law again. But, slowly, the place began to fall apart, and with it, the children fell out of line. It was a tragic thing. 

Ricky ran off with a local girl he met at the market. They eloped in the nearest village they came to. Geoffrey got the invitation for all of them to come, but when Jack heard, he forbid anyone to go. Ricky was only sixteen. He had two children of his own by the time he was nineteen, and he rarely wrote back to the letters that had been sent. Geoffrey had a feeling he was still out there somewhere. 

Poor Rita suffered a horsing accident that broke her hip, and she needed a cane to get around now. She refused to ever ride another horse, but she married a decent man when she turned twenty or so. Geoffrey wasn't too fond of him, but he treated Rita well, and that was all that mattered. The two were off sailing to France for their honeymoon...and they never came back. 

Randy and Rover both ended up in jail before either of them reached legal adult age. The rambunctious behavior had turned into hostile animosity that lead to the death of a policeman...and one life sentence, the other being an execution following immediately after the conviction. Randy rotted away in prison while Rover was buried without a head. 

Rusty, along with Rita, seemed to be the only truly heart breaking death. He was only eleven when he died, suffering a horrible bout of Scarlet Fever. It seemed to attack out of nowhere, and Rusty was in bed rest for a week before his life's strength gave out. Jack was by his side until the end, wiping his forehead and crying inwardly, trying his best to save the last of his children. 

And this was why Geoffrey refused to ever have children. He didn't know if could truly ever handle something like this, and he never wanted to. 

Until he met Janice Crawly. 

Jack had invited him down to the Crawly household, telling to let the old house go. There was nothing there for them anymore. Nothing but sorrowful memories of what could've been, but was now lost. Geoffrey closed the door, burying the key beneath the mat of the front door (_He went back years later only to find the place in ruins; the key was still under the mat and he took it home...he now wears it around his neck much like a Catholic would bear a cross_).� 

The widowed sister-in-law had died only weeks before Geoffrey arrived. He came a week shy of the wedding, missing it by a hair. Jack gave his niece, and that seemed to be it for him. He was found only a day later in the tool shed hanging from the ceiling, a hideous mask for a face, all purple and blue, the tongue hanging limply from his mouth.� 

They seemed like the perfect couple, Janice and Daniel. Janice was more than happy to have Geoffrey there, sending him to work with Daniel out in the graveyard and helping her into making dinner. She was a pretty woman with what seemed a kind heart, but Geoffrey couldn't help but get that feel that maybe (_just maybe_) something was off her ticker. When the years passed and it eased away, Geoffrey had turned to suppose that it was just the way she was. 

He couldn't not admit he wasn't attracted to Janice, heart and soul. And he didn't rather like Daniel, but then again, with the rather unmanly crush he had on the woman, he didn't think it likely for him to like anyone she chose to be with. Geoffrey was no stranger to the shivers and chills he got when Janice smiled or laughed. He liked the heat that made his face flush and his veins pound when their hands lightly brushed. 

(_"We don't need this baby Janice! We've got ourselves god damn it!"_

_"But Daniel! It'll be ours! __**Our**__ baby!"_

_"I don't need no damn baby! I sure as hell know that! You've seen what happened with old man Jack's kids."_

_"Is that why you don't want him?"_

_"Oh so it's a boy now?"_

_"Answer the question Daniel!"_

_"I hate kids. I always will. Get used to it."_

_"I think not!"_

_"And why's that?"_

_"Because you're out!"_) 

Geoffrey couldn't say he was sad to see Daniel go. Well actually, he didn't _see_ Daniel go. Janice told him he'd left early that morning, taking the stallion with him. Geoffrey watched as she flustered about the kitchen, wishing there was some way to comfort the blustery onset of tears as Janice sank to the floor. It had been years, but there was something about the way she acted that day that had him questioning her very sanity. So he decided to dig a little for himself.

And then he...he found _something_... 

* * *

And here he was, standing in the doorway of Janice's room, watching as Sweeney clawed through the old photos and newspaper clippings. He'd only come to inform him that the carriage was ready for Fleet Street. 

And now, Geoffrey had found him in here. How the barber had even gotten the audacity (_much less actually figured out about such private personals_) to be in his Miss's room was beyond him entirely. But there he was, the box in his lap, staring over the articles shouting, 

"**Crawly Child Sent to Fogg's Asylum**" and "**Eight Yr. Old-Youngest Victim For Fogg's**", and even "**Local Sent To Asylum After Attacking Guardians**". Geoffrey had never known if that was true. Jack never said anything, and neither had Janice. Her mother couldn't because she was already dead, and what use would come from her?

* * *

Sweeney stared down at pictures of a young girl with listless eyes and a trail of saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth. Dirty, oversized rags clinging to her bodies in some, or tight, starch white in others. Sometimes clawing for the camera, and other times shrinking away. So it was true after all. 

-CREAK- 

Sweeney stiffened, his head snapping back and over his shoulder. A low guttural growl escaped from his throat as he caught sight of a panicky Mr. Pickard in the door way. The razor had slipped into his palm before he'd even thought about it. Geoffrey backed away, stumbling over his feet as the door swung open, revealing a mighty less than happy Sweeney Todd. 

"Oh please Mr. Todd! I didn't mean-I just-so sorry...Mr. Todd-" Geoffrey fretted over the words as Sweeney caught him by the collar and drug him up. He bared his teeth, a wicked smile forming on his lip's He really didn't give a damn what Janice was going to do to him. He didn't intend to return here again. 

"I've been waiting for an excuse." Sweeney growled, his predatory glare streaming with flashes of delight. 

Geoffrey didn't even get the chance to scream. 

* * *

OH NOES! I've done in Geoffrey! (_sobs_) Poor fellow never had a chance did he? XDXD


	21. Chapter 21

Return Of The Demon

* * *

A/N: Damn. My comp broke again.

* * *

Chapter Twenty One

The body slumped over to the floor with a heavy –THUD-, gargling sickeningly from Geoffrey's throat. His eyes were wide and shot, his mouth gaping open and closed much like a fish out of water, silent screams gone unheard. He clutched out frantically, groping nothing but air that he desperately tried to swallow.

Sweeney brushed the end of his sleeves, frowning at the stains on the ends of his cuffs. He'd need to change before he went out.

He left the writhing, dying body on the floor with a satisfied smile of a job well done. The blade still dripped scarlet, small drops plastering to the newspaper clippings as he picked them up again. He ran wet fingers over the letters and pictures, fascinated with some of the things he read. It was like a gruesome bedtime story that could get even the craziest of nightmares ready to go.

Tossing them aside, blank eyes stared up at him from the yellowing paper. He glowered at them for a moment before turning away and shuffling through the box some more, pulling at pictures and letters and articles. Geoffrey gave a strangled outcry right about then, another –THUD- as he collapsed to the floor, and a grunt. Sweeney looked through the door from where he was kneeling only to meet struggling eyes, still gripping onto life. Sweeney chuckled, shaking his head, the dark curls hiding the profile of his face like a dark curtain.

He shoveled out more papers, tossing them about idly, knowing Janice was out feeding the horses for Geoffrey (who was _supposed_ to be setting up the carriage; we see he is completely denied of such an opportunity, don't we?), and would be waiting outside for the buggy to be drawn up. Sweeney would have to move quickly. He had dug straight to the bottom of the box, wrenched a handful, when suddenly something caught his eyes.

It was yet another newspaper article, cut carefully with two pictures attached to it. The top picture showed Janice, younger somewhere in her forties, early fifties, seated beside a well dressed man who was yelling at someone not in the frame. Janice was watching him intently, seeming completely unaware of the staring eyes of the people behind her. It was a courthouse, Sweeney realized slowly.

In the next picture, Janice was seated at the witness box, her mouth open as she was speaking, a hand out in front of her, gesturing towards yet another man who seemed to be questioning her, his eyes thoughtful. The judge sat high and mighty in his chair and Sweeney froze as soon as he recognized the old face. It surfaced with a mighty crash through his brain, wracking his mind full tilt. It was Judge Turpin, a hand stroking his chin, the other clutching his mallet, as he watched on carefully. Sweeney stared, and found himself unable to breath for a moment, before he reached forward and drew a long red streak across the Judge's throat, just like he had done with a razor so many years ago.

"Todd…" came a retched gasping breath. Sweeney jerked, his mind coming back to earth as the door creaked. Geoffrey laid half in and half out of the doorway, a hand grappling along the floor. He was watching Sweeney in a way that made the barber feel as if he were exposed to the flesh and beyond. He growled in the back of his throat, bubbling out of the corners of his throat. He moved forward a bit more, reaching with a crimson hand to grab at Sweeney with whatever strength he had left. Sweeney found himself laughing as he stood, drawing the blade out once more. His work of art had yet to be finished.

"I'll tell her you left with a goodbye on your tongue. So sad." Sweeney whispered, yanking Geoffrey back by his collar and plunging the razor into the supple flesh of the older man's neck. Geoffrey lurched, gushing from the now gaping hole in his throat, fingers hurrying to cover it in vain. He jerked and twitched, eyes seeming to pop out of his head as the carpet turned a dark maroon and spread out in a dark circle. He gasped uselessly, tears suddenly streaming forth and cutting tracks through the raging blood. Sweeney watched as the man bucked helplessly for another minute, their eyes continuously locked, until he arched up once more and then fell bonelessly to the floor.

He was as good as dead.

A slight breeze from the open window ruffled the papers, attracting Sweeney's attention once more. The paper fluttered and he picked it up with a somewhat maniacal grin. He flipped away the pictures and read on, the metallic smell of coursing through the air. He wondered if Janice would be able to smell it. Although he didn't think to much on it, as he began to read…

* * *

There are such things scientists like to refer to as "telepathic kisses", where two people, connected in some unbelievably strong way, come across a topic of sorts without knowing the other is thinking the same thing. Only then are they let into a world that is not theirs and take a glimpse into another mind without entirely knowing it is the others. Hence, they "kiss" through telepathic waves of energy. There have been very few experiences where it has purposely happened, where the person starves itself for the other's mind, reaching out for it until it connects and pulls in.

"Serial killers, as such, seem to do this more often than others," remarked a young man studying psychiatry at the local University, "The surge for their next victim, or next event, or next whatever-you-want-to-call-it becomes so prominent, they practically become _that_ person to catch a hold of them. They begin to _know_ things that are almost impossible to comprehend. It's truly an amazing thing."

It really is.

* * *

At the exact moment Sweeney's eyes raced across the page, Janice herself was recalling those very days on trail. How stupid they had all been, how cruel and mindless in their actions. And there she had sat, quiet unless spoken to, on trial for the of fourteen people, among them including her son. How despicable…

_Flashback_

"_Please ma'am, raise ya right hand." A squarish-jawed man held out the bible with one hand and pushed up his glasses with the other. Janice did as she was told, keeping his face somber as she was told._

"_You swa' to tell tha truth, the whole truth and nuthin' but tha truth, so help ya God?" The man asked, his eyes stern as Janice nodded, replying with a dry "I do". The man cleared his throat, and drew away, hobbling away on his cane and taking a seat to the side. A man approached her, a cool smile on his face as he jerked the tie on his neck._

"_Janice Crawly. May I call you Janice?"_

"_Miss Crawly will do fine."_

"_Can you tell the jury why you're here?"_

"_I'm pretty sure that was already conveyed earlier, sir."_

"_I'd like to hear it from you."_

"_I thought you told me to tell the jury."_

"_They wish to hear it too, Miss Crawly."_

"_Objection! This is antagonizing my client." Her lawyer, Ira Stevenson, stood, his face a bit red with anger. Janice gave him a friendly smile and nodded reassuringly. He just continued to glare at the judge and the questioning man, whose name, Mr. Jacob Riley, was pinned to his shirt._

"_Overruled Mr. Stevenson. Although, please Mr. Riley, don't drag this." Turpin added._

"_Of course your honor. Now please Miss Crawly, tell the jury and I why you're here."_

"_I've been falsely accused of killing a man."_

"_Just a man?"_

"_Fourteen, of which also include my son."_

"_And why's that?"_

"_Because people have the most silly over reactive imaginations."_

"_Could you please tell the jury who these men were?"_

"_If you'd be so kind as to hand me a list, then yes." Janice shot back, relaxing in her seat a bit. Playing angry would do no good, seeing as this man only fed on it. Jacob frowned a little then obviously upset she hadn't gotten all riled up, but motioned for the bailiff who brought a small piece of paper forward (the very same who served at Benjamin Barker's trial, and saw the gruesome mess "Sweeney Todd" left in his wake)._

"_Here you are Miss." Janice took the slip, removing a pair of glasses from her sash and gazing over the paper for a moment. She caught her son's name, showing off the practiced pity she had carefully constructed. There were whispers from the jury and audience as they watched her sniff a little._

"_Well?"_

"_Liam Iverson. William Duchamp. Carl Lipson. Stan Wick. Daniel Wick. Matthew Tippers. Jason Allan. Arnold Devon. Jared Crawly," She paused a bit then, her scowl deepening, her eyes tearing up just slightly, "Michael Jarrow. Thomas Ritz. Gabriel Amphrous the III. Damon Rightus. And Maxwell Gooding."_

"_Thank you. And I'll take that," Jacob took the paper and handed it to Turpin, "Now, out of the __**fourteen **__people, you're saying none of them you killed? Even though every single one of them had either once been "close" acquaintances or still were at the time." Before Janice could open her mouth, Ira was on his feet._

"_Objection! That's an unfair question. My client has already pleaded innocent, and such personals regarding the deceased is a brow-beating." Ira folded his arms across his chest. Turpin nodded and slammed his mallet three times to quiet the crowd which was alive with talking once more._

"_Objection sustained. Mr. Riley, I'm going to have to ask you not to delve in such a way. Please continue."_

"_Of course your honor. Now Miss Crawly, none of these bodies were relocated at any point, yes?"_

"_That is true."_

"_And all victims were last seen in either your company or around the vicinity of where you live, yes?"_

"_So it seems."_

"_And were you aware, out of all the men, all ages ranging from between twenty to forty-six, they all had similar characteristics? Such as dark hair, dark eyes, and bearing some likeness of which pertained to your son."_

"_Objection! Questioning the looks of the deceased was nothing discussed with me previously that would be questioned." Turpin thought about it for a moment and then slammed down again._

"_Overruled. Continue." Ira sat down, his lips drawn in a tight line. Jacob gave a sly smile and continued._

"_Were you aware Miss Crawly?"_

"_No sir."_

"_Not aware at all?"_

"_Not in the slightest." It was a lie, but it seemed Jacob was convinced. He walked away for a few moments and then returned with a folder in his hands. He slapped them down in front of her, splaying it out across the small table where she folded her hands. Turpin leaned over to look._

"_Is it true you suffer from a mental disability Miss Crawly?"_

"_I did."_

"_You did?"_

"_I did."_

"_And is it true you were sent to Fogg's Asylum as a child to…so-called "cure" this mental disability as you put it?"_

"_Yes sir."_

"_Did any symptoms resurface after the birth of your son?"_

"_No sir."_

"_None at all." And that was because these "symptoms" didn't exist. Mental problems didn't have symptoms, unless of course they pertained to talking about perhaps tumors or lesions. Mental disabilities in those wild enough to be sent to an Asylum usually learn to blend in with their personality in a way that can seem normal to the unsuspecting eye. But of course our Mr. Jacob Riley did not know this._

"_Who were these men?"_

"_Friends. Both mine and Jared's."_

"_Friends from school?"_

"_Some, yes."_

"_I have another question."_

"_I may or may not have an answer." Janice retorted sharply, the corner of her lips quirking as the room burst into polite chuckles. Jacob frowned, gnawing on his bottom lip as he slid out a piece of paper from the stack before her._

"_As the witness previous to you, he mentioned how controlling you seemed. Is that true?"_

"_I have to say, I like things my way."_

"_And is it true you have a temper?"_

"_Somewhat."_

"_And is it __**also**__ true that you tend to lash out, both physically and mentally, if things are not completed your way, or others do not listen to your demands?"_

"_Sometimes it is the only way to get things done."_

"_Can you contribute this to your health issues?"_

"_No."_

"_And why not?"_

"_Because sir, if I did, we'd go around in a circle once more, only to repeat everything we just said."_

"_And why do you say that?"_

"_Because your fascination with my past seems far greater than what's happening right now."_

"_Again, why do you say that?"_

"_Because if you weren't, this wouldn't be lying before me now would it?" Janice gestured to the papers before her._

"_I see. Now, tell me Miss Crawly, what can you contribute it to."_

"_To the fact not enough people listen. Today's generation is out of control."_

"_And this upsets you?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because they tend to only repeat the same mistakes when someone does not get the message the first time. People must be taught a lesson."_

"_An example of one such lesson?" Janice slapped Jacob across the face, good and hard. The crowd gasped, and Jacob just smiled and pulled away, rubbing the now-red flesh. He had what he needed now. Turpin raised an eyebrow, silencing the crowd with his hammering._

"_Very good. A few more questions."_

"_Of course. You've deserved it." Janice smiled politely, straightening herself. Jacob paused, grinning thoughtfully. _

"_You are able to write, yes?"_

_"Of course."_

_"With which hand might I ask?"_

"_My left." Janice watched as Jacob pulled out a battered picture of her son, his face pale as he lay in his coffin. Janice winced, leaning away by a small amount. This seemed only to make Jacob's smile grow. He turned the picture away from her and studied it._

"_When the was constructed, he neck was broken, yes?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_Were you also aware of a bruise to his face."_

"_They said a rock is what routed his neck and snapped it."_

"_Do you remember what side it was on?" Janice paused now, suddenly freezing. She dug through her mind, thinking hard._

"_His right. His right." She muttered, nodding now._

"_When you say right do you mean __**his**__ right, or the right in which he was facing __**you**__, meaning your right as if you were looking at him on?"_

"_I…his--his right." And then she stopped, the words out her mouth before she could stop. Jacob motioned to the mark on his face and Janice's own went emotionless._

"_No more questions your honor."_


	22. Chapter 22

Return Of The Demon

* * *

A/N: Our old (really old) computer broke. Something about it being, you know...just a little over a decade old! XD My parents leave, so I think, to compare prices, and they come home, instead, with a lap top. I'm so proud!

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two

_**Continuing the trial…**_

"_That proves nothing." Janice stood, face ablaze with anger. How dare he, how dare that man. Jacob turned on her, face polite. He folded his hands, intertwining his fingers as he gingerly came forward again._

"_May I ask a few more questions your honor?" Jacob asked, cocking an eyebrow at Turpin. Turpin sighed and nodded, leaning back in his chair to watch._

"_Miss Crawly, you've had the job as being the graveyard caretaker before haven't you?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Now, your son was said to have died by supposedly slipping up and snapping his neck when he fell back in."_

"_It wasn't __**supposed**__, it did happen." Janice retorted, sitting back down. Jacob nodded and continued smiling. He had something up his sleeve and immediately Janice began to search for what it was. She'd have to be ready if she were to get out of this innocent. There was no fooling around in a place like this._

"_Now, when you discovered him…it was you weren't it?"_

"_Yes sir. Myself and Mr. Pickard."_

"_Ah yes, your house servant…now when you found him, was the grave done."_

"_Excuse me?" Janice put a hand over her heart, her face blanching._

"_Was the grave done when you found him."_

"_Why, I never-"_

"_Answer the question Miss Crawly." Turpin growled. Janice swallowed thickly, tears streaming down her cheeks._

"_And just what makes you think I noticed something like __**that**__ when my baby boy was lying dead at the bottom of it all?" Janice's breath hitched. This wasn't the regular dramatic theatrics, no, she was crying. Sobs wracked her somewhat petite frame as she buried her head in her hands. The crowd came alive, some in comfort, some in disgust, others neutral. Jacob waited patiently as Turpin rapped his mallet, silencing the place._

"_Please Miss Crawly," Jacob ushered, "Answer the question."_

"_Yes, it w-was done." She spat, taking the handkerchief offered to her by the bailiff. She gave the man a timid smile and dabbed her eyes. Jacob waited again and then spoke once more._

"_When a grave is finished, all obstacles inside the hole are removed, yes?" _

_Janice nodded._

"_That would also conclude in rocks, am I right." That's where it was. Right there, and she had missed it. Janice tensed again, coughed dryly. Jacob was patient, leaning against the witness stand, passing glances off to Ira whose attention was on Janice. He too had his hands folded together, but there was something close to hope and encouragement in his eyes. He looked quickly to the floor, smiled again, and nodded. She remembered. There was more to be said._

_Janice took a breath and turned to Jacob._

"_You obviously weren't looking too closely at all the evidence Mr. Riley," Janice started, "Ira would you be so kind as to bring me my folder?" Jacob straightened, watching curiously as Ira pulled a leather folder from beneath his chair. Ira looked to Turpin who nodded in acceptance. He handed Janice the folder, patted her hands and sat back down._

"_When you went through the evidence did you ever happen upon pictures of the site Mr. Riley?" She was using his name now, not "sir". He didn't deserve it anymore. Something flashed in his eyes and he leaned forward as she began to lay out papers._

"_Well did you?"_

"_All they had was your son's autopsy photos." Jacob informed. Janice nodded, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head. She "tsk tsk"-ed and held out a few papers at a time._

"_Were you not aware the police had taken pictures of the site? And the bailiff," She pointed, "Was the one who took them." Jacob shook his head, looking over them thoroughly. He looked at the bailiff who nodded._

"_Is there something I should be looking at Miss Crawly?" Jacob inquired as Janice took them away. She lay them out so Turpin could see them. He looked over them and the bailiff slowly approached as well. The room was deathly quiet, everyone holding their breath. And then Jacob let out something that sounded like a small moan. Turpin spoke though,_

"_That there," He indicated to a rather solid, gray object protruding from the ground, "What is that?"_

"_**That**__," Janice explained, "Would be the very rock that routed my son's head and broke his neck." Janice sat back. Of course that was not true. Not at all. _

_**(She had told Jared he was not to be out past ten, that he could finish the job for the old man tomorrow. Did he listen? No. He seemed to have a hard time doing that...**_

_**She'd heard his window clamp shut and his scurrying feet outside the window, clambering back to the site to finish his work. She'd followed, absolutely livid until she came upon him, where he was lifting the very rock from the grave. She remembered how big his eyes got as he saw her, and he quickly climbed from the grave, hurrying to explain. She hadn't given him much of a chance as she hit him good and hard across the face. He cried out, the momentum of the swing having him falling backwards and into the whole. His neck snapped as it hit the other side of the hole, the angle to harsh for a human to take.**_

_**She remembered staring down at him, disappointed. She loved her son more than anything else in the world, but sometimes, things must take the high road and this was such an example.**_

_**She placed the rock beneath his head…)**_

_Jacob was seated once again, staring down at his hands. It was a wondrous how even the smallest piece of evidence could turn an entire case upside down. Rotating it a full 180, before sending in the opposite direction completely. _

_Although, they were now moving onto the newest subject of the other thirteen victims. Janice waited patiently as each question took fire and she gave back an answer. Calm, cool, and collected. Janice waited, heard out each accusation, even had to deal with a few of the victim's relatives in the process, but was able to fend off every single question in the process._

_**(She'd met most of them when they came to her about their dead/dying relatives. Something primal would spark in the back of her head and she'd soon get acquainted, Jared as well when some of them were already previously his friends. Though he was dead before the first victim was even taken. **_

_**There'd be many socials with all them as she invited them over, most unable to say no as they felt pity for her late son. She was polite and watched them carefully. She made them comfortable, made them lose whatever they were covering, wanting only to get to the core of what she hoped could be anywhere near her son…even better.**_

_**But they'd all slipped up at one point or the other. And now all of them were rotting away in the "best place" among the willows. Right where they deserved to be, the bastards.)**_

_Without the bodies being found, without enough evidence scrounged, it was absolutely impossible to get anything exact that could convict her entirely. The trial lasted a week at the most, maybe a few more days than that. People had softened somewhat, the jury seeming to as well, as it became "clear" she was not guilty. And such was proved in their answer to have her lead away innocent and back into the free world._

"_How does it feel to be innocent Miss Crawly?" asked a sharply dressed young man in a suit. He had a pencil behind his ear and another in his hand as he began to scribble down notes. Janice smiled at the journalist._

"_It feels beautiful my child."_

"_Did you learn anything?"_

"_Nothing I already knew, Love." She patted his head and he grinned._

"_Any words for the paper?" He asked gingerly._

"_Always listen to what others have to say. It might just mean the difference between life in prison or stepping onto the streets again."_

_**End Trail**_

* * *

Janice sighed contently as she strapped the bridle on the mare's nose. It whinnied and she cooed at it gently, rubbing its muzzle.

"Janice?" A dark voice inquired behind her. Janice rounded, cocking her head as Sweeney stood in the doorway. He was dressed down in a black vest; the cuffs of his sleeves were ripped and tattered as if he had taken a horrid cutting job to them. She stared.

"Where's Mr. Pickard?" She asked as she led Lily from the stall.

"He's informed me he's not feeling well at all."

"That's strange. He was just fine this morning."

"He said the same."

"Perhaps I best check on him."

"He's says he's quite content," Sweeney continued, taking Lily's harness, "All he needs is some rest. He was asleep last I saw." Janice nodded, slowly at first, before speeding up.

"Yes, then I suppose I best not disturb him," Janice murmured, "Come. Shall we be off?"

"Of course."

_**(She'd first seen Sweeney through Officer George Bailey, the bailiff who stood at her trial. He was a polite man, whom one day had gathered enough courage to ask her to afternoon tea. Although quaint and old-fashioned, he was a sweet man. Yet the romantic interlude one night came to a halt when the rookie of the force came rapping upon the door, frantically shouting.**_

"_**The pie shop," He cried, hysterical in the rain, "Mrs. Lovett's shop! Quick!" George had gone off and Janice debated before following. He wouldn't like it of course, but he could never tell her what to do. She was too free-spirited for that. She made sure to leave a note on the table should he get home before her, saying she'd gone to see if the wine shop was still open. **_

_**When she saw Sweeny, it felt like her heart had stopped. Every circuit in her brain snapped, frying and sizzling. It was like staring into an older form of an older Jared, only far more handsome, the blood giving him a glorious quality. She stayed to the shadows, watching carefully and slowly following the **_

_**doctor who had Sweeney's body removed, along with a scraggly blond woman in his arms. Through the windows, she watched the doctor conduct his work ever so carefully, never delving with surgical tools but just staring and shifting about. A pretty little nurse came in, said something Janice didn't hear and together they left the room.**_

_**It was then that Janice ventured inside through the back door, cautious not to make any noise as she approached the long table that held Sweeny's body. With a shaking hand she pressed it to his head, the skin cold and clammy, and ran it across his face, marveling like she was seeing a wonder to the world. Her hand came to pause over his neck where dried blood crusted and some still spilt over. It coated her fingers.**_

_**She traced over his collar bone and rested on his chest, right where she knew the heart would be. What a horrible thing. He seemed like the type she would've enjoyed. Down the hall she could hear talking slowly approaching. Sighing, she had just taken her hand away when she felt **__it__**. Yes, **__it__**. It was so slight, the untrained would have missed it entirely. But she had not.**_

_**It was a weak and dull thump, just beneath her fingers. In awe, she waited, taking her chances against the people beyond the door. After what felt like a few moments, it came again. The heart was still beating, he was still alive. A thrill rushed through her. There was still hope. She waited again, smiling when she felt it pulse again. Staring down, Janice ran a hand through his hair. He would wake soon enough she hoped. She'd seen this only once before in her mother. **_

_**The comatose state could last for God only knows how long. A person in a coma was rare; them coming out of it was unheard of. Her mother was completely under for over a year before she finally let go. Janice kept such the thoughts at bay. Her Jared would wake when he was ready. And then, just maybe, would he listen her.)**_

Janice stared up at Sweeney, smiling broadly. Yes, her Jared had awoken and he was good. She approved.

Hopefully, it would stay that way. Lord only knew if it didn't…

* * *

So, that's how he done it XDXD Yup, Sweeney was in a coma.How did he end up in the grave? What will happen next? Wait and see ;)


	23. Chapter 23

Return Of The Demon

* * *

A/N: So I want to tell everyone (in fair game) I'm hoping to wrap this up before thirty chapters, or exactly at thirty chapters. As you can see, that's not too far. :( I hope you've all been enjoying this, and I want to say thank you for all the support so far!

Much love!

* * *

Chapter Twenty Three

_Flashback_

_Johanna could do everything short of crying as Antony knelt before her, kissing the back of her hand tenderly. It was snowing, the street lights aglow as the sun was dying away beyond the London horizon. She waited as he pronounced his undying love, his voice quivering ever so slightly as he took a small wooden box from his pocket with shaking fingers. Johanna practically tackled him to the ground as he used the momentum of her jump to swing her around instead._

"_Yes! Yes! Yes!"_

_--_

_The old church was simple, small and quaint with windows that looked out to the sea. It was by no means sunny, and it was raining, but the happiness that flowed from very area was enough to brighten anyone's day. Toby stepped forward, assisted by the priest who then took the gold rings laid out upon them. _

"_And I take you, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward, until death do us part."_

_--_

"_A baby?" The words fell from Antony's lips like a foreign spice, eyes wide as the mug crashed to the floor and shattered. Toby coughed back up whatever he had been drinking as a fine mist into the air. Johanna patted her stomach and nodded, cocking her head as she waited for an answer. For a moment it was met with silence and suddenly she was off the floor, swinging in a circle as Antony kissed her as if she might disappear. Toby was laughing, scratching slightly at the bandages as he offered his congratulations._

"_A baby? Really? A baby?"_

"_A baby…"_

_--_

_The letter was in a yellow envelope, all neat and primp with a "Sincerest Apologies" written delicately across the front. Mrs. Nosy-neighbor-from-across-the-street let her head hang low as she ushered her children inside and closed the door. Moments later, a white flag was in their window. Johanna stared from the letter to the flag, the letter, the flag, the letter, the flag before she began to scream._

"_He's not dead! You take that down! You take that down!" She screeched, flailing hopelessly. There was no conceivable way Antony was gone--gone just like __**that**__. Not with a baby due, not with a future planned, not with a wife waiting for him at home. No, he couldn't be. But she didn't need to read the letter, conveying its "Sincerest Apologies" to the death of the man she loved, now lost to the vixen of the sea._

"_You take that down! You. Take. That. __**Down**__!"_

_--_

_She'd pushed for what felt like hours, her entire body searing in a chasm of fire. The midwife urged her on, the tone to her voice none so hopeful or cheery. Toby sat outside the door, knees drawn to his chest as he sobbed, hands clamped over his ears, flinching each time Johanna called out Antony's name in pain. It was too early, nine weeks too early for a baby to born properly. Nine weeks too early for a baby to survive in these times. A century or so too early for a child to be birthed and still live on with the right amount of medical care and technology..._

_Johanna screamed, tears tracking down her face as every last bit of energy rushed from her body, the baby following. She reached out, the room hazing before her eyes, waiting for a crying infant to be placed in her arms, waiting to be fed. None such happened, but she heard the midwife trekking away, muttering under her breath…_

"_Not ready…never had a chance…born into God's hands already, poor thing."_

"_My baby! My baby! Not my baby!"_

_Toby's hand was in hers, his arms wrapping around her as he stroked the small of her back and let himself break down as well._

_End Flashback_

Johanna readjusted Toby's bandages with a heart-felt smile, kissing him lightly on the cheek. She could tend to get somewhat over affectionate, whether she noticed or not. At the same time, it was both a maternal and loving instinct, something primal that made even the highest of lionesses of the African Sahara bow down. She brushed her thumb over his cheek, cupping his face lightly as she surveyed her work…among other things.

Johanna leaned in, eyebrows knitting together as she smiled sadly. She could say she loved the boy, loved him like any woman could love another man, but not the way she had Antony. No, this was different, something softer and slower, unrushed. It didn't feel like the hurried blur and mass that had been what it was with Antony (but oh, she had...**still** loved him so). She felt as if she had all the time in the world, instead of brooding over the premonitions of something bad happening that could end everything.

Toby let a hand slip to her hip, resting carefully, waiting for any reaction that said "no". None was given, so he let the other hand follow. Somewhere off in the back of his mind, a little voice pondered on what exactly Antony might think of this. Of him being this close to the woman he loved. Part of him thought it to be wrong, and yet at the same time, Toby believed Antony would approve. That after all the horrible things Johanna had suffered, he truly just wanted her happy in the end.

When their lips brushed, it was like a jolt of electricity. The room seemed to crackle, alive and hot and thick. It was a simple kiss, something that might have looked close to a mother kissing her child good night. But Johanna let it deepen, easing gently so as not to scare him--or herself out of what reverie they were in.

It didn't last long in reality, but in fantasy, it was an eternity. Johanna pulled away first, only to lean in close enough that their noses touched. She'd missed out on parts in her life she wished more than anything to get back. She missed out on a proper future, with children and a husband, and everything else she'd wanted ever since she first came to live at Judge Turpin's. Her imagination was the only 

creative thing that held the boredom and sadness at bay, and tales of being a princess, or an Amazoness, and dream weddings with the perfect man were among the dancing visions in her head.

She'd missed so much and now, it seemed there shone a possibility of getting it back. And just the very thought had her bursting into tears, clinging to Toby's shirt and burying her face into the crook of his neck. She could have it all back now, she could still have children and a husband and just maybe a "fairy-tale" future…and as Toby stroked her hair (ever the understanding one; as if he could read her very mind), she actually felt happy for the first time in years.

* * *

Like the many days in London, so it seemed, it was raining. Cold, chills, drafts, gray, cloudy, dark, you name it; it was all there. The horse cantered slowly, lolling slightly as it moved down the cobblestone streets. Sweeney sat at the reigns, Janice inside who was humming away as she began to finish up with a shawl she was knitting. It was red, a delightful color, with black fringe that dangled in the breeze.

"Oh, do stop here Mr. Todd! I love this little shop." Janice urged and Sweeney pulled the carriage to a stop. The mare panted, bending her head low and licking water from the crannies between the stones. Janice clambered slowly from the cart, putting her knitting down and adjusting her hat. It was a perfume store and from the looks of it, the plump woman in the window knew Janice well. She waved happily, grinning. She came out.

"Ah, me lovely dear, 'ow are you?" The woman giggled and hugged Janice. Janice patted her back, offering a welcoming smile of her own.

"Oh you know. Come to visit the town. See what new scent my darling Pearl had for me." Janice sighed. Pearl looked at Sweeney, her facing lighting up. Janice followed her gaze and nodded. Somehow, an entire conversation took place then as both women burst out laughing. He wasn't sure how it was conveyed, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. Sweeney just bowed his head in greeting and looked out across the streets.

"Well, I jus' got a lovely l'il batch from the harbor. From India they say. It's 'eavenly!" Pearl chided, leading Janice towards the store. She paused at the door, rounding on Sweeney and giving him a stern look.

"Be sure not to wander off again love," Janice warned, "Listen to me. Don't wander off, we don't want anything to happen to you or…anyone else, now do we?" Sweeney shook his head, running a hand through his curls. As if he'd listen, he was just waiting for them to get out of view and then he'd make his leave from there. Pearl was staring at him in a way that seemed much like puppy-love. Janice scowled, before ushering her inside, looking somewhat uncomfortable. Possessive…

He was gone within ten seconds, leaving the mare to drink the rain from the streets, and two women to coo over the grandesque jade bottles on the side shelves.

* * *

To clear up the whole "white flag" business above, it was tradition when a sailor died to hang a white flag in the window for sympathy or if it was your loss. Much like how we hang yellow flags or yellow ribbons for the troops today. Thought I should clear that up before people got all "WTF?" on my ass... :)


	24. Chapter 24

Return Of The Demon

* * *

A/N: This chapters a bit long, sorry about that! Over 3,000 words this time. If I intend to finish before thirty chapters, so I better start getting it all together then, eh?

* * *

Chapter Twenty Four

Johanna cleaned herself up, wiping at her eyes before giggling and fingering a strand of blonde hair. Toby smiled, reaching out and taking her hand in his own, intertwining the fingers. It was going to be new for both of them, but they needed it…they _wanted_ it.

"Sorry 'bout that," Johanna sighed, helping him stand, "How's about we go downstairs and you show me how Mrs. Lovett prepped her pies."

"Again?"

"There's a reason as to why I don't cook Toby." Johanna laughed, linking her arm with his as they walked down the steps slowly. Johanna, although her mother and her mother's mother had been fantastic cooks before her, was the kind of person who could burn water. She'd tried many times to prepare meals and once burned down an entire set of cabinets above the stove. Antony had them replaced a few weeks later. When it was found Toby had quite the skill in cookery, he soon became delighted to serve as a chef for their small family.

"You wouldn't mind would you?" Johanna asked as she took down a rolling pin, its greasy handles feeling grimy beneath her fingers. She stared down at it, thinking in wonder of how long it had been up on the shelves collecting dust. It was one of the few things they had dared not touch when they moved here. One other being the entering of Mrs. Lovett's room. When it was found locked and the key nowhere to be found, they left it at that. They didn't even try to pry it open or give it out for rent. That place had been and still was Mrs. Lovett's alone. It was common respect and tradition to leave the dead's propers untouched.

"Of course not." Toby smiled brightly, holding out his hand and taking the pin from her. He felt it for a moment, frowning. He obviously knew what it was and he didn't seem happy. But seconds later he motioned for the bag of flour he had last placed on the floor. Johanna picked it up, watching as he handed the pin with care despite its natural durability.

"Mrs. Lovett always said the best pies are those free of critty-crawlies--if you could try in a place like this." Toby chuckled, digging in for a handful of flour and dumping it on the table.

"Get me a bowl and some water, won't you? A whisk too?" Johanna did as she was told, fishing about the cabinets and finding a large silver bowl. She set it on the counter and grabbed the whisk that lay in the corned around bunches of old silverware. She handed them off to Toby before filling a large cup with water to the top. Toby took that too before scooping the flour off the table and ushering it into the bowl and pouring the water in after it. Johanna stood close, resting her chin on Toby's shoulder as she watched.

"Now, from here, all you have to do is-" Toby was cut short as the door burst open, the bell tinkling rapidly as it nearly flew off. The bowl fell to the floor as Toby jumped, the flour-water mix dribbling all 

over the place. '_No pies today._' Toby thought grimly, feeling the sticky mixture coil underneath his thin shoes. He stepped back, making a disgusted noise.

"Mr. Todd?" Johanna's mouth fell open as Sweeney was leaning against the doorway, face half hidden by the shadows as he surveyed the scene before him. _His_ daughter was standing just a little too close for comfort to the young man he once knew as a boy no older than thirteen or so. Rather odd, and it may not have been that easy to catch if he weren't a man like himself…or if Johanna hadn't pulled away from Toby like she'd been burned.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming back. You did say we needed to talk, after all." Johanna stepped around the counter, motioning to the picture of her and Antony before wiping her hands free of powder on the front of her dress. Sweeney said nothing for a moment, only straightened his jacket, pulling the flaps of his vest tightly over the razors hanging from their holsters.

"Not here. It's not safe." Sweeney said flatly, motioning for Johanna to follow him as he headed for the stairs. Johanna took a hesitant step forward, eyeing him warily and then the door, as if a crazy murdering rapist might bust through at any moment. She whispered to Toby, reassuring him she'd be back before lifting her gown and following Sweeny upstairs. She found him in her dresser, tossing assorted arrays of garments onto her bed.

"What are you doing?" She hissed, her face turning red as he yanked out a pair of stocking and panties and throwing them with the other clothes. She swiped them up, clutching them protectively to her bosom as if he might light them aflame.

"Do you have luggage bags?" Sweeney asked, getting to the closet and taking her dresses out one by one. Johanna stared, eyes wide with irritation and disbelief as Sweeney dug through her belongings. So, yes, in some form of the twisted word "father", she was his. But she'd only met him twice, once in fear and once in fear _and_ ending in gratitude. And she was a full grown woman who could make her own decisions and have her own thoughts, so why in the hell was Sweeney asking for bags and ripping her clothes out of their places? Were they going somewhere?

"Mr. Todd, what's going on?" Johanna demanded, stamping her foot. She could almost picture Toby's head snapping up at the sound, eyebrows crinkling together in suspicion and concern. Sweeney said nothing, but beneath the dark façade, Johanna could see the slightest amount of fear. Something she didn't think was possible upon a face like his own.

"It's not safe for you here anymore. Not for the boy," Sweeney urged, "Not for me." Johanna fell to her knees, ducking under her bed and grabbing the leather bag from underneath. Its hide was worn, the stitching of Antony's name long gone from the side, and it was dirty and smelled like mothballs and salt. She tugged at the zipper, unsure of why the words suddenly had her flying about in a panic. Perhaps it was because she knew Sweeney was not a man to joke around, always doing things in a serious manner with a face to match. Perhaps it was because, deep down, she feared he was right and no matter how much she wanted to rebel against it, she believed him, terrifying as he was or not.

"Toby's?" Sweeny inquired, throwing the last of her corsets onto the bed. Johanna jerked her head to the heavy chest in the corner (the very same that once held Pirelli's lifeless, bloody corpse body all those years ago, Sweeney noticed with amusement). He went to it, jerked the lock and began to pry out britches and long-johns and cuffed shirts and a pair of boots. He threw them into a scattered bunch on the floor before taking out the limp traveler's bag at the bottom of the chest. It was a faded blue with pink and gold swirls, no doubt from his times of traveling with Pirelli.

"What's going on?" Johanna asked as found she could fit no more than one dress into the bag, along with only a selected few of undergarments. It was not a large bag, it was only meant to hold a sailor's bearings, which was hardly anything at all.

"Janice."

"_Her_?"

"Her." Sweeney nodded, not bothering to fold the clothes as he hurled them in as a jumbled mass into the bag. Johanna stared at him, holding the garter that had once accompanied her thigh during her wedding. She fingered its delicate silk with slight fingers as she frowned at Sweeney's back. He could feel her gaze boring into the back of his head, millions of questions haunting the air as he pulled the strings tight to Toby's bag.

"She _will _kill you Johanna," Sweeney turned to look at her, "And she'll do the same with Toby. But she will destroy whatever you two have between each other first. She will crush it between her fingers, tearing it to shreds and hopelessly desecrating it to nothing at all. And then she will take your life just the same as she took your love." Johanna stood their breathless, her heart hammering in her chest, her eyes wide as she clung to the garter as if it were the only thing keeping her alive at the moment.

"You need to go," Sweeney whispered, "You need to leave."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Johanna begged, cocking her head as she followed Sweeney back to the stairs. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she stumbled after him in a rush. She halted only slightly to hitch up her skirt and chase him down.

"I will join you when I am done here," Sweeney responded coldly, "I have work to do. Questions that must be answered." Johanna couldn't begin to understand, but she nodded anyway. She followed Sweeney into the kitchen, dumping her bag onto the floor before dashing over to Toby who was trying to clean the gooey mess from the floor.

"When?" She asked, pulling Toby up under his arm. He followed jerkily, caught off guard.

"The sooner the better," Sweeney informed, going to the door and pulling aside the curtain to stare out at the cold, clammy streets, "No later than nightfall, midnight being the latest. Whether on foot or by carriage, you need to leave. Get out of here as fast as you can."



"How will you find us?" Toby had no idea what was going on, but he felt Johanna push the old straps of his bag into his hands and got some idea. Why Johanna was listening to Sweeney though, confused him, but he kept silent. He knew better than to question her judgment. Johanna may not be a woman who could cook, but what she lacked in, she made up in wits. She was smart, brilliant even, but she knew when steps had to be taken and how they had to be approached. This was no different.

"I have my ways. Does the ocean not sound like such a place to be located at?" Sweeney suggested with a small smirk on his face. If you titled your head and squinted just the right amount, you might see it was actually a smile.

"It sounds lovely." Johanna sighed girlishly. She hadn't quite meant it to sound in such a way, but she'd always dreamt of seeing the sea beyond her. And although it had unmercifully swallowed her husband not long ago, she could still see it's rapturous beauty in the pictures hung in old shops and eateries. She longed to see the true blue it shone, rather than an artist's depiction of it.

"Mrs. Lovett would've liked that." Toby said gently, slipping his hand with Johanna's in a subtle movement. Sweeney stared at the young man quietly, the darkness in his eyes fading somewhat as they softened slightly.

"I never did apologize for that," Sweeney sighed, staring out the window, "She said my Lucy was dead. It angered me. I had never felt such a rage and passion to kill as I had right then."Sweeney shook his head, pulling the curtain back into place. Johanna stared at the floor, biting her lower lip as Toby just waited for the barber to continue.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Sweeney said hesitantly, the words seeming foreign to his tongue, "I'm sorry for your loss; and that I was the one who…who caused it." He hardly ever let such words escape his lips, hardly a man for regret. But Mrs. Lovett had always been such a bloody wonder and Toby in love with the woman like a child lusting after penny candy. He supposed he owed the boy some sort of apology towards the subject of the matter.

Toby's face broke out into a smile right then, and he did something Sweeney (nor Johanna) ever would have suspected. He came forward, an arm out to clear his way until his hand struck Sweeney's shoulder. Giving it a firm squeeze, he wrapped his arms around the older man, grinning all the while. Sweeney's eyes widened in surprise, Johanna smiling awkwardly as she surveyed the happening before her. It wasn't until Sweeny forcefully pried the boy from him did Toby let go. He was still smiling from ear to ear.

Sweeney opened his mouth, a biting comment on the tip of his tongue when movement caught his eye. Through the lace curtain, Sweeney could see a figure come around the corner, a bright red material strewn over their shoulders. Before he knew what he was doing, he had Toby and Johanna by the arm and led them into the den and closed the door with a foot. It slammed shut and he hurriedly ushered them towards Mrs. Lovett's door. Johanna's mouth fell open.

"Mr. Todd! No! We can't-why are we-"

"She's here." Sweeney hissed, giving the doorknob a hard wrench and jiggling it to no avail. He looked around desperately, thinking rapidly as to where a key might be kept. Johanna tried the door, kicking it harshly as she gave up. Outside, footsteps on the cobblestone grew louder as the approached. Toby stood, transfixed with fear as his hands clamped into fists. Sweeney grabbed him by the shoulders, jerking him roughly.

"Where would she keep the key? Where?"

"How am I-"

"Where is it?"

"I don't know!"

"Where's the key Toby!" Sweeney shook him again, as if rattling the poor boy's brain might jump start it.

"Where would she keep it?" Johanna asked, sweeter and sugar-coated as she tried to sooth him, taking Sweeney's hands off him. Toby's brow crunched together as he thought, the adrenaline making his thoughts rush by, quicker and quicker with great speed until-

"The gin," Toby's head snapped up, "The gin!" He dashed about, nearly tripping over the stool as he scrambled in the direction he hoped was the fire place. Sweeney saw the bottle and got there first. It was still a quarter of the way full…and sitting at the bottom, glinting and silver, was a small key.

"She always said gin kept things all brand new and shining. I bet it still tastes great." Toby explained as Sweeney pushed past him, and jamming the key into the lock. He held his breath and twisted it…and the door gave a shuddering groan as it fell open. Yanking Johanna by the shoulder, he grabbed Toby by the wrist and pulled them inside, closing the door and locking behind him. Just as the lock clicked into place, the bell above the front door jingled merrily.

The room was covered in dust, inches of it, everywhere. But aside from the dampness and grime, it lay unchanged. There was even a dent in the sheets where Mrs. Lovett's body had last lain. Toby sat upon it, dust coming up in a cloud. Johanna seated herself beside him, her breath held as some got up her nostrils, practically choking her. Sweeney stood at the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other to his holster, fingers grazing over the handle of the razor as he pressed his ear against the door.

"Mr. Todd? Oh, Mr. Todd," Janice seemed to sing airily, "You ran off again my dear. Why? Why don't you listen to me? You're no good as the others. Oh, I had such high hopes for you Mr. Todd." There came a creaking as Janice moved about.

"I took you home with me. They all thought you were dead, but you weren't, you see? You were just in a deep sleep," Janice rambled as she continued her search, footsteps heading for the den, "A coma as my mother's doctor once called it. My mother was the same before succumbing to death and leaving me all alone for years to come. But I believed you weren't like that. I knew you'd come around. Do you know 

how long I waited so I could have you all to myself?" The door between the den and the kitchen groaned as it opened. Sweeney stiffened, his teeth grinding as glowered at the door.

"I waited ten years before giving up my sweet," Janice cooed, "I thought that it was true, that I had finally lost you and that putting you out of your misery was the best for you. I thought I was going to have my son back in the form that you have, but I finally gave up. I kept you in the shed out back, all comfy and warm in Jared's bed that had been taken out there for storage many years before. Not even Mr. Pickard knew about you. The very Mr. Pickard _you_ killed." So she'd known all along, eh? There was a shatter as the gin bottle (obviously) connected with the wall. Johanna clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a yelp as she clenched Toby's hand. He winced in return.

"And then I decided to let you go. I could find others, couldn't I? Of course I could," Janice's voice raised an octave, a sign of her rage, "And I buried you in the dark of night, my bible getting soggy as it continued to rain like it had been for the past few days. I couldn't make the journey to my best place, not by myself with a dead weight. I settled for the edge of the cemetery," Footsteps shuffled for the door, "And I buried you there in heartbreak. And what do I find on the way home from the market the very next evening? A dark figure huddled on the ground, panting and in pain. Do you know who it was Mr. Todd? It was you.

"From what I can conclude, doctor or not, the jolt of your body hitting the ground, as I rolled you into your grave, pumped just enough electricity through your heart to start you up again," Janice continued, Sweeney listening curiously as the footsteps stopped just short outside the door, "I brought you life Sweeney Todd--Benjamin Barker. I brought you back." The footsteps drew away and towards the door.

"I'll be waiting," Janice said softly, "We'll finish this Mr. Todd. I swear by the name of God, I. Will. Finish. This. I made a mistake, and now? I'm going to fix it."

* * *

Wow, long one! And so Sweeney knows how he came back upon the earth after he though he was..."dead". Which, we now all know, he was not :) So, shall they make it out alive? Will Janice meet an end? Will Sweeney? Will they both? Will it have a happy ending?

Will it?

Will it?

**_Will it?_**

Keep with me people!


	25. Chapter 25

Return Of The Demon

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A/N: And look at that. Chapter 25, and I've hit **200 reviews**! Really? Thank you all so much. I can't thank you enough. You've all made me so happy! I hadn't been sure what I was planning to do when I started this story, but I can tell you, I know now, and a lot of that is from the inspiration from all of you...

And I must say, I'm glad to see no one freaked on my ass about the **Johanna/Toby** pairing I've put in. And if I dare say so myself, I believe I'm the first person who ever has **:D**

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Chapter Twenty Five

They waited inside Mrs. Lovett's room until the dingy gray beyond the window became a solid black. They didn't dare venture beyond the door, afraid that Janice might still be seated or standing, waiting for them. Johanna stretched across the dusty bed and fell asleep, her golden hair fanning out across the pillows. Toby sat beside her, stroking her hand as Sweeney paced the floors silently, a razor in hand. Thoughts raced about rapidly in his head. The longer he stayed here, the more of a threat he was to Johanna and Toby. He had to get them out of here, and fast.

"Toby," Sweeney paused by the window, pulling up the shade, "Wake Johanna. We're leaving."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Yes Mr. Todd?" Toby leaned over Johanna, brushing a few loose strands from her face. He shook gently her by the shoulder, urging her awake with whispers. She mumbled something before rising up on one arm and squinting about the room. She rubbed her eyes in a drowsy gesture before Toby helped her sit up.

"Are we going Mr. Todd?" Johanna asked groggily, smoothing out her gown. Sweeney nodded before crossing the room to the door and gently easing it open. The room was dark, empty of any inhabitants. On the floor were glistening pieces of glass, a dark stain marking the carpet from where the gin bottle had smashed earlier.

He motioned for the others behind him before slinking out the door to the kitchen and looking inside. Again, the room was dark, empty of any living soul. The spilled bowl of yeast lay glinting on the floor, the sticky contents caked to the floor.

"I can get the carriage." Johanna offered. She held herself high as Sweeney gave her a wary glance. He'd lost his wife in more ways than one, and he'd lost his daughter just the same. If anything were going to happen to her out there, he'd never forgive himself. He wasn't sure of Toby would either.

"I'll be alright Mr. Todd," Johanna came to him, linking her fingers with his own, "Papa..." It was one word, soft and quick, but it made Sweeney's heart stop in his chest. He stared down at her, lips drawn in a tight line as he felt his chest tighten. She took the razor from his hand as it trembled ever so slightly, and placed it back in its holster.

"I promise. I'll…I'll be fine." Johanna hesitated with her words, putting effort in to make them sound reassuring. Her eyes flickered to the streets outside that lay dark and barren where anything could be held inside their shadows. She looked doubtful, but she was truly her mother's child. She looked into his eyes and smiled--and it lit up the entire room.



"It'll be ok. _I'll_ be ok." She pressed one last time, kissing the back of his hand in a vain attempt to convince him. For a moment, Sweeney paused unsure, and then nodded, grabbing the shawl from the rack near the door. He tied it about her head, knotting it beneath her chin.

"Ten minutes. No more, no less, understand?" Sweeney ordered, patting her cheek. He let his fingers linger there, stroking the pale cheek with his thumb until let it drop limply by his side. Johanna nodded quickly, racing to the door and running out, slamming it shut behind her.

"Will you be coming with us Mr. Todd?" Toby asked, feet scuffling over the dry mess that coated the kitchen floor. He felt around, fingers closing over a cloth on the counter before he turned to the sink, dunking it into the basin of water. He squeezed out the excess and then knelt down, wiping up the sallow crust. Sweeney sighed, leaning against the door frame, watching his daughter disappear into the shadows.

"I have my work to finish here." He replied, leaning his forehead against the glass, his breath ghosting over it. He ran an absent finger over the tip of the razor, soon clenching in his palm. The silver object was warm, the strangest feeling it was _alive_ beneath his fingertips making him smile. They were always like a part of his soul, a little piece in the story of his life.

"Janice?" Toby inquired, breaking his thoughts.

"Yes. And there are still questions that need to be sorted." Toby nodded, falling into a seat, throwing the cloth towards the sink where it instead toppled to the floor. He buried his face into his hands, inhaling sharply before letting out a long sigh. The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and Sweeney cleared his throat a few times to fill it. It suddenly felt too hot-

"She was so…sad when Antony died," Toby spoke up, dropping his hands and resting his chin on his arms, "Out at sea. Died a sailor like he was. She went into a raging fit at the neighbors when they put the white flag in their window." Toby cracked a sad smile, scratching idly at the bandages over his eyes. Sweeney lowered his gaze to the floor and then back out the window as the distant clops of horse's hooves echoed from the alley.

"She was pregnant you know." Sweeney's head snapped back, brow furrowing. Toby frowned, shaking his head.

"Born a stillborn. The stress of Antony's death was just too much."

"My dau-Johanna was pregnant?"

"_Was_," Toby buried his head in his arms, "They were so happy. Antony was ecstatic." The silence engulfed them again and as Sweeney opened his mouth to speak, the familiar squeak of wooden wheels creaked closer until a carriage and horse came from the shadows and headed for the shop. Seated at front was the dark form of a woman hunched over, a shawl about her head. Sweeney straightened, and Toby was suddenly beside him.

"Is it her?" Toby asked. Sweeney placed a hand on his shoulder, watching the carriage as it ambled closer and it finally halted. The figure stepped down and as the streetlamp set light down upon them, Johanna's yellow hair sparkled beneath it. She paused by the horse, motioning with a crook of the finger as she placed a hand on the horse's flank and waited.

"The bags." Sweeney ordered and Toby was gone, back only seconds later with both sacks in his hands. Sweeney took Johanna's and took Toby by the upper arm, practically dragging the poor boy from the shop. He pushed him down the stairs before turning and clicking the lock into place. Taking a step away, Sweeney looked up at the old battered sign where the name "Mrs. Lovett" was faded beyond recognition unless you knew what had once been there.

"Mr. Todd!" Johanna called quietly; she was standing with a hand tangled in the horse's mane, clutching it so hard her knuckles were turning white. Toby reached out, feeling around for the handle of the buggy door before pulling open it open and throwing his bag inside. He gripped the edge of the frame, placing a careful foot on the first step and then venturing inside, the darkness from the inside of the cab swallowing him whole.

Johanna's face reflected nothing but stark terror. Even in the dim light of the streets, her face had seemed to pale another ten shades. Sweeney came to her, brow furrowed in curiosity, handing her the old bag. She took it, hands trembling a bit as her fingers grasped the straps. She looked into his eyes, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip as she darted between staring to the buggy and back to him.

"It's not alright Papa…it's not alright." She whimpered, head bowed, her entire frame suddenly surrendering to the shakes. Sweeney froze, razor suddenly in hand before he dashed to the side of the carriage, throwing open the door. Toby sat inside, his hands balled into fists as he sat as rigid as a plank.

Beside him, white hair standing out against the darkness, was Janice.

"Hello Mr. Todd."

"Janice…" The words escaped his lips in a growl. Immediately his hands went to the razor by his side, fingers curling around the handle.

"Ah-ah, Mr. Todd. Tsk, tsk," Janice clicked her tongue, wagging her finger in his face, "We don't want poor li'l Toby here to get…hurt now do we?" She ran a hand through the boy's dark hair, gripping into it before yanking his head back. In her other hand, she held a glinting knife, nothing more than a barber's cutter, in her grasp. It was polished, twinkling madly in the glow of the streetlamp. And from the looks of it, it had just been sharpened, the edge smooth and ripe enough through bone in one slick slice.

Sweeney didn't let go, teeth bared as the razor slid from its hold. Janice's eyes narrowed, daring him before she laced a cut right up the middle of Toby's cheek. Toby cried out, hands fisting in his pants as small crimson rivers began to run down his neck and soaked the collar of his shirt. Johanna approached the cab, face tight with fear, only stopping when Sweeney held a hand out in warning.

"Such a pretty face you have m'dear. You remind me of my son." A grin spread across Janice's face as her eyes flickered to Sweeney's, the message conveyed in those few simple words. He let his hand fall away, jaw tightening as Janice gave him a sickeningly-sweet smile, like a grandmother would give her grandchild. She cupped Toby's face in her hand and put the knife in her lap before holding out, motioning for the razor. Sweeney stared down at it, gripping it so hard his entire hand was shaking.

"Give it to me _**Jared**_," Janice snapped, voice hard as her grip tightened on Toby's jaw, "Listen to me. Give it right now." Sweeney froze, the name 'Jared' ringing in his ears before he reached out and placed the razor in her open palm. Janice nodded in approval.

"That's my boy. Now, take mommy home, will you dear? Mommy wants to take you and your friends somewhere wonderful." Janice cooed, sticking the razor in her sash and then taking the knife again. Johanna backed away a few steps, hands clasped together over her heart as she swallowed thickly. Janice stared at her, offering a polite smile as if she were inviting the girl to tea.

"Come now sweetheart, you don't want to miss out on the big surprise do you? You don't do you Toby?" Janice asked. Toby visibly blanched, his throat constricting to the point where words could not surface. It was a raw sense of fear that had his heart hammering in his throat, the blood pounding in his ears. It was something primal that hadn't resurfaced since the days he had felt when he was a young lad, trying to get by on barely anything at all and people passed him on by like he didn't exist.

"N-no ma'am." He gasped, his chest aching.

"And don't you want Johanna to come with you?" Janice's nails dug into his chin as he went t protest. He didn't want her there if she was going to get hurt. If she were going--going to get killed. He didn't want that. The tip of the knife jabbed into his side, ripping the shirt as it grazed trembling skin.

"Don't you Toby?" Toby let out a whimper, his lips tightening into a hard line as he refused to speak. Janice snarled, the knife tearing across pale flesh, a blossom of blood spattering across the shirt. Johanna began to cry, burying her face into her hands as Toby let out a violent shriek, twisting about until Janice had the knife at his throat. He froze, the tears staining through the bandages as he clamped a hand on his side. Sweeney stood shaking, not in fear, but in rage as Janice smirked at him, her eyes aflame.

"Don't you want Johanna with you, Toby?" Janice inquired smoothly. Toby nodded, his nostrils flaring as pain erupted in waves from the gouge.

"The matter's settled then," Janice looked to Johanna, "Come now my little girl. You too Mr. Todd; you'll drive, Love." Sweeney stepped in front of Johanna as she advanced to the carriage. She looked up at him, a deep sorrow and begging of forgiveness rotting deep within her eyes.

"She was already waiting inside," Johanna whispered sadly, "I took the first one I saw, I took the first bridle I saw, I took the first horse I saw…and she was already there. I didn't know until she-she-she…until she had the knife at my back." Johanna gulped, sniffling, rubbing her nose on her arm.

"She was waiting for _us_," Johanna said frantically, "She knew we'd come, and she waited. She told me to take me to you and I thought that maybe I'd divert her, but then I remember what you said 'Ten minutes. No more, no less.' And I knew you'd come out anyway if I didn't show up and-"

"Johanna." Sweeney clasped the girl by the shoulders shaking her roughly. Her eyes widened, tears pooling on her lashes before spilling over and tracking down her cheeks. She was scared…no, scared wasn't even the word to begin describing it. This was something deep and guttural that even the pits of Hell spat back out in fear.

This was pure, unadulterated, mind-numbing, gut-wrenching _**terror**_.

"What do we do?" Johanna whispered as she caught Janice's eye. The woman frowned, motioning her towards the cab. Biting her lower lip, her eyes darted between the two, her hands fisting in Sweeney's vest. He looked over his shoulder, scowling before closing his eyes and breathing deep. This was going to take some thinking, this was going to take some time. Opening his eyes, he stared into the dusty fearful blues of his daughter's. _His daughter_…

Sweeney sighed gently, pushing her towards the carriage.

"We play."

* * *

Again, thank you all so much for the reviews. I'm really glad to see all of you sticking by me through this--especially when there's really no pairings (Sweenett or otherwise) in this story. Usually people tend to wander away from fics like that. So I'm glad you've all proven me wrong!

Anywho, yay for creepy chapters! xD


	26. Chapter 26

Return Of The Demon

A/N: Bit of a short chapter. Sorry I didn't get it up sooner. I'm in a bit of a rush...

On the other hand, in good spirits, I turn sixteen May 1st! :D Wish me luck with all the relatives...dear lord, save me!

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Chapter Twenty Six

"You'll take the reins won't you sweets?" Janice cooed at Sweeney. Johanna stood beside him, her lips in a tight line as she slowly approached the carriage. Janice reached across Toby's lap, patting the seat cushion invitingly. Looking unsure, Johanna glanced to Sweeney who nodded, gently palming the base of her spine and urging her forward. She stepped cautiously inside, sitting herself rigid at Toby's side, her face pale with fear.

Janice's eyes twinkled as she motioned for Sweeney to shut the door. He did so, slamming it in ager as he rounded to the front of the carriage. The mare gave a hoarse whinny, staring at him forlornly with large eyes. He patted her flank and pulled himself up into the carriage chair. The horse stared at him, shaking her head of mane, muscles twitching in anticipation.

Gathering the reins in his hands, Sweeney passed a look over his shoulder into the cab. Janice smiled at him, a wicked flash in her eyes. Toby was slumped forward, almost hopelessly as Johanna held his hand, her thumb stroking his palm. Janice rolled her hand in a "Get along" kind of gesture. Sweeney turned back to the horse, slapping the reins down. The mare gave a pitiful whinny and clattered forwards.

"Home if you please Mr. Todd." So she was calling Mr. Todd now, eh? Strange woman; complete nut-buggery. The streets were dim, the lamps flickering against the shadows. Shades were drawn, sleeping bodies behind them, lost in dreams and nightmares alike. Sweeney watched each house that went, somewhat desperate to see a figure hidden away he could signal.

An urge to actually see another being was something he was not so profoundly used to; it startled him. He had never thought that needing someone else in such emergence was something he'd ever come to expect. He usually depended on himself, not daring to let any of those farther than the dank expression on his face.

"Hurry won't you Mr. Todd? We've got to be quick about this." Janice called from the back. A light went off in a nearby window and Sweeney's heart skipped a beat. He watched it. A shadow moved behind it, getting larger as it drew towards the sill--and then the light flickered out. A deep sense of misery flooded him as the buggy clopped on by.

Soon, Fleet Street was fading behind them, lights dancing like the gentle flickers of flames in the darkness. Those disappeared just as well. As did eventually the main of the London's streets as they became dirt roads waded in rocks. All that could be seen was the arching rooftops of the grandesque buildings behind them…and then those disappeared as well. Trees arched over them, covering them in dashing shadows as the moon's light swayed through the breeze.

"We're almost home lovelies." Janice cooed from the cab. Sweeney passed a glance over his shoulder. Johanna had lost herself out the window, her face streaked in tears that shone silver against her cheeks. Toby was still somewhat slumped helplessly as Janice held the knife to his throat. She was whispering something in his ear, grinning wickedly as she did so. She caught Sweeney's eyes, smirking.

He turned away, watching the road bend and her old house come into view.

This was going to have to be done the hard way…

--

"Don't sit there Johanna dear," Janice fussed, "Move along child." She seemed like a grandmother whirring over a grandchild. Johanna stared at her a moment as if this whole thing might hopefully be a dream she could awaken from. When Janice rapped her sharply on the cheek with the knife, a thin cut biting into her cheek, Johanna immediately jumped out. She practically fell over her own feet and onto the ground had Sweeney not come forward, grabbing her firmly under the arm.

Almost immediately she swung away from him, grabbing the door handle before doubling over and vomiting into the road. Janice shoved Toby out, a gnarled hand clutching the back of his shirt.

"Johanna?" Toby called out, reaching for her when the tip of the knife prodded seductively at the base of his spine. It jiggled a bit, breaking skin, a red flower blooming across the linen in an instant. Toby sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, hands clenching at his sides as he drew back. Johanna nearly keeled over in her own mess as she swayed dizzily.

"Come now Johanna," Janice whispered daintily, "Don't be such a push-over my dear," She turned to Sweeney, "Would you mind fetching the body from the back Mr. Todd. He'll be needing to come with us."

"Don't you _dare_ touch them." Sweeney threw a threatening finger in her direction. Janice threw her head back, laughing. It was a sugar-coated sound, grating to the ears. She shook her head, white wisps of hair flurrying about underneath her bonnet.

"Of course not Mr. Todd," She smiled coyly, "I'm a woman of my word."

"You best be Miss Crawly," Sweeney growled, using her last name, spitting it to the ground as if it were an insult, "Because if you so soon as take one or both of them to the dead, you have no other pawn to deter me from sending you to hell." Janice's smile flickered a bit, faltering just slightly. Her eyes remained glued to his though, danger flashing inside them.

"You have my word, Mr. Todd. My life." And suddenly she retrieved the razor from her pocket and held it up into the night air. She stared at a moment as if intrigued by the glinting silver and then lowered it, handing it out to him. Sweeney stared, brow furrowing.

"Take it, Love," Janice said quietly, "If I so much as even end the life of a strand on their head, so much as their spirit, you may take _that_ to my throat." Sweeney stood there, a foot between him and the beloved weapon that could mean the alteration to every bit of this horrid nightmare.

"Take it sweetheart. Take it." She urged tenderly. Sweeney reached out a hesitant hand, pausing, and then grasped the handle. It was cold, like the ice one might find on the caps of Everest (had anyone "discovered" Everest at this point in time). The strange pulse he normally felt quivering beneath his 

fingertips was gone. He slicked it in his hands, rubbing the metal harshly against his palms as if to warm the life back into it.

"Go one Mr. Todd," Janice shooed, "You've got a guest to fetch." Sweeney glared at her, turning away and disappearing in the direction he knew to be headed for the shed out back. Feeling his way along the brick confines, he came to the corner where the edge dropped off, sloping down into the trench. Sweeney was immediately hit with a rank odor that sickeningly plugged his nostrils, its greasy, grimy fingers sleeking against his body.

He drew away, practically gagging as the smell hit him like a blow to the face. He wrenched the collar of his shirt up, forcing it over his nose as he descended. He was halfway down when something caught his eyes. He wasn't sure why it stood out now of all reasons…the shed. Its mighty shadow hovered over him and, before he could even process what he was doing, he pulling himself back out of the ditch and heading for the rotted shack.

Sweeney stood before the door, staring at it, the rusted handle nearly blending with the desecrated brown of the wood behind it. His hand, almost lily-white against the dark color, found its way around the ancient piece of metal and tugged. The hinges screeched angrily, roaring in resistance as Sweeney wrenched it open.

He widened it just enough that he could slip inside, wriggling through the opening and squinting into the darkness. He could see nothing at first until his eyes adjusted, and then small figures and shapes stood out at him. Reaching blindly out before him, the dust now took over from the horrendous stench from before. It prickled the hair in his nostrils making him sneeze.

Sweeney let a hand glide against the wall before it suddenly came across a rather soft material, something cold behind it as he palmed it. Shifting it about, a flash of white suddenly blinded him and his fingers met glass--a window. He yanked down what he supposed was a shade, light flooding the room just enough for whatever had hidden in the shadows to now be seen…

There was an old night stand just below the window. Upon it was a frame and, as he lifted it, he brushed the dust away. There was a woman crouched beside a small boy, one arm around his shoulder while the other hugged around his waist. She was a pretty young thing, her smile--Janice. That was Janice. The boy was smiling brightly at the camera, teeth all shown, head keeled up so most of his neck was exposed to the photographer rather than his face. He was…strangely adorable with a mop of dark hair and great big, brown eyes.

That had to be Jared.

Sweeney placed the photo back down and looked around him, other items bathed now in silver. There were boxes piled high to the ceiling, shovels among other tools hung on racks and nails, and the old waft-y smell of dust clinging to the air…

And then a bed. It was off in the back, covers yanked down to the end as if someone might just have risen from it.

_("I kept you in the shed out back, all comfy and warm in Jared's bed that had been taken out there for storage many years before…"__)_

The words swirled around in his head as he approached the small apparel, reaching out, his fingers grazing the yellowed sheets. They were crusty, old, ancient and wrinkled with more dust and grime that nearly blackened his fingers. So this is where he had lain…for ten god damn straight years. And she hadn't even pulled the covers up to tidy up after herself. Sweeney sat upon the comforter, feeling along the bed as far as his arms could reach before resting them on the edge.

Dust clouded about him as he closed his eyes, almost feeling drowsy in the silent presence. And then--

"Mr. Todd!? Mr. Todd!?" Janice's voice rang from the dark. Sweeney opened his eyes at another strangled yell from Toby. No doubt the poor boy had been punctured once again. Sweeney sighed, standing, his back suddenly aching. He rubbed it, staring down at the bed, a strange, delicious mixture of hatred, fear, and delight filling him. He was leaving this-this-this nightmare behind him; he was leaving this monstrosity to the past now; he was gone…

The hinges screamed as they shut for the last time; their barely-silver nuts reflecting the fading image of our Mr. Sweeney Todd into the shadows from where he would never return.

* * *

For future spoilers: Expect either the next chapter or the one after to be the last ;) We're heading for a final close people!


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: As an update...**

Work In Progress:

As I am to sadly inform you, the next chapter of 'Return of the Demon' will (I believe, if I'm working this right…) most likely/definitely be the last chapter. It is, of course, a possibility, that there may end up being one more further than the next; seeing as if I don't want to make it excessive, I'll break it up if I have to.

I'm here to let you all know that this next chapter may take another week or so finish. I'd like to end with some sort of a –BANG- as one might say :) So I figure it would be best to take my time with this one. Sorry if I've left you in disappointment, but be patient and I should have it up in no time.

Thank you and much love,

Angst Cupcake


	28. Chapter 28

Return of the Demon

* * *

A/N: And so, my faithful, loyal fans, we draw to a close. As every story begins, it must end. And, I am sad to say, that this story has found its own ending...

I can't belive it. I actually finished a story. Holy shit.

Mind you all though, there shall be an **Epilogue** after this chapter. Stay tuned for that :) Many thanks to all.

* * *

Chapter (technically) Twenty Seven

The body stunk of something most foul, and as the moon broke through the clouds, Sweeney had to take a moment to look away. The murky water had pruned the gentleman's face, giving it a severe wrinkled look, the eyes lolled back in his head, the white exposed. His tongue flapped from his mouth, a sickening gray flab, his skin a pale purple.

And when Sweeney touched him, it brought shivers through his body. The skin was soft, almost mushy. It broke easily beneath his fingers, the flesh tearing like paper with a horrid wet sound. Swallowing away the bile that rose in his throat, Sweeney bent down, the smell clogging his nostrils and making his head throb, and tossed the body over his shoulder.

Every inch was clammy and wet and _disgusting_. The soiled water clung through Sweeney's shirt, staining it horrible a horrible mesh of colors against the moonlight. He waded to the embankment, crouched over and clawed his way up the trench. It came away beneath his fingers and ore than once he almost fell straight back in. He dropped the body to the ground, taking a moment to breathe before finally pulling himself to his feet and the body with him.

"There you are love," Janice's eyes sparkled when she saw him, "We were starting to wonder where you were." She had an arm laced around Johanna's shoulder, the glittering blade pressed into the girl's neck. Sweeney froze, the body hitting the ground with a sickeningly wet –plop-. Janice grinned wickedly, pressing in just a little tighter, enough to bite into the skin. A drop of blood rolled down Johanna's neck, rising over the bump of her collarbone and disappeared between her breasts.

"Let her go Janice." It was barely above a whisper, but from the widening of Janice's smile, Sweeney knew she'd heard him. She gently caressed Johanna's arm, the flesh breaking out into goose bumps and every hair standing on end.

"What's that sweets?" Janice mocked affectionately. Sweeney scowled, swallowing dryly. Johanna squeezed her eyes shut, breathing rapidly as she felt another cut drawn no more than a few inches higher than that of the first. Her chest heaved, a dry sob breaking past her lips as she stiffened against the blade.

"Let. Her. Go." Sweeney said it louder this time, the razor flickering forth in his hand as he took a step forward. In the winking silver, Sweeney could see his darkened face, angered and frustrated. Janice waggled a finger at him, stepping back and taking Johanna with her.

"Ah, ah, ah dearie. I think not," Janice giggled sharply, high pitched and grating, "We don't want to stain your daughter's dress do we? It's so pretty. All that lace. The perfect garment of choice for a funeral procession…her own, of course." Johanna's breath caught in her throat, her heart thumping in her mouth, the blood pounding in her ears.

"Toby, be a dear and take the razor from Mr. Todd, won't you?" Sweeney clutched the blade to his chest as if he were to die without it. Yet at this point, one such comment might be true. Toby came forward slowly from where he had been sitting on the carriage stairs, unmoving like a statue. He held his hands out in front of him, groping the air as Sweeney took a step back. A strangled shout was torn from Johanna's mouth as the blade dug in again, slicing pale flesh.

"Come now, don't be selfish," Janice chuckled, "We've got work to do. Hurry up!" Toby staggered quickly now until he nearly collapsed in Sweeney's arms. He felt his hands down the barber's arms, gripped his wrists, a pleading look dashing across his face. Sweeney swallowed, his throat achingly dry.

"Please Mr. Todd…Mr. Benjamin? Please? For Johanna?" Toby let go of one of his wrists, an opened a hand. Sweeney stared down at it, then to Johanna, then to Toby and then back to his hand. A vicious circle. He stared at the blade a moment longer, the current pulse of warmth suddenly returning and he dropped it into the boy's hand. Toby held it.

"Do you have it?" Janice called out. She'd made her way, Johanna tucked to her bosom and all, to the entrance of the cemetery.

"Yes!" Toby called back. Sweeney glared at the wretched woman, despite the fact he knew she could not see him from there. Bending down, he retrieved the drenched corpse and tossed it over his shoulder. Toby gagged, clogging his nose and shaking his head wildly.

"Good! Bring it here!" Janice commanded and Toby made his way over, Sweeney following as Janice crooked a finger at them. He kept close behind the boy, reaching out a helping hand as they stumbled along. Toby accepted it gratefully, shaking as they came closer, Janice seeming to edge away just so as they drew in. She held out a gnarled hand, beckoning for the razor.

"Come Toby. Give it to me." Janice ordered and Toby came forward, a hand out stretched, when he suddenly froze. Janice's face darkened and Johanna let out a whimper as the blade dug into her shoulder blade. Sweeney shoved Toby forward, his nails biting hard enough into his palms they were starting to bleed.

"Ma'dam? May I keep it?" Toby suddenly inquired. Janice's eyes narrowed, her eyes suspicious. She crooked her palm again. Toby kept still.

"And just why would I do that?"

"Because you hold Johanna."

"There is no such thing as an equal exchange here boy."

"I know, but you already have one weapon-"

"What would stop you from stabbing me when I turn away, eh love?"

"I'm trying to keep you safe!" Toby shouted, cringing at his own voice. Janice cocked her head, intrigued. Sweeney found himself the same, leaning in, ears intent. Toby cleared his throat, holding the blade up, just out of Janice's reach.

"Johanna could hurt you with it." Toby said simply. There was a quiver to his voice, but his face was straight. The grip on the knife loosened and Janice backed away. Sweeney and Toby followed, edging ever closer towards the forest edge.

"Hmmm, really? How so?" Janice inquired.

"If I were to give this to you, where would you put it?"

"In my sash love, of course." Janice said as a matter-of-factly. Toby's lips quirked at the corner, but he froze when his foot snapped over a twig. He became rigid as a swing of gentle branches brushed his face. He reached out, touching them gently and took a step forward, nearly falling flat on his face as he hit a root above the ground. Sweeney grabbed him, yanking him upright.

"Come along dear, we've got places to go and things to see." Janice cooed from the trees, Johanna's white gown that was all to be seen. Her golden hair could be seen as the arching branches parted in the wind, the yellow seeming like fire against the darkness. Toby took a careful step forward and Sweeney hitched the body up higher. He knew where they were headed. He'd taken this same path many a time before.

"It's just--well, your sash?" Toby asked.

"Yes…?"

"What could prevent-" He nearly tripped over a rock, "What's going to stop her from taking it when you're unaware?" Janice's footsteps fell to a stop as did Toby's. Sweeney bumped into him, the corpse falling to the ground with a dull –thud-. He growled in anger, stooping down to retract it to his shoulder.

"I never--I never thought of that."

"You have my word. I will not use it, seeing as you have Johanna in your grasp." The trees split again and the clearing could be seen. Toby held up the blade for Janice to see and then secured it firmly in his belt. He held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

"This, you have my promise." Janice squinted at him, her lips drawn tight. And then…she nodded. It was slow, almost retarded motion as if the words were still trying to sink into her head. Possible death or no death at all? There really was no way of arguing with it…

"Yes, yes…yes, that'll work." And she began to move again, face still tight with confusion.

Perhaps if Toby had eyes, they would have ignited with a brilliant spark that would've given him away…

* * *

"Here we are lovelies." Janice tugged Johanna harshly. Johanna gasped, another broken yelp breaking past her lips as she craned her neck away from the blade. Janice grabbed her sharply by the hair, surrendering the knife from Johanna's throat and shoved her towards the willows branches. Sweeney let out another growl, this one deeper, more animalistic as he watched Johanna crumple to the ground, Janice's heel landing in her side.

Sweeney took an angry step forward and Toby grasped his arm, nails digging into the skin, his face sweating and pale. He shook his head, wrenching Sweeney back as hard as he could. Sweeney dug his heels into the ground, the body dropping from his shoulders. Janice looked over at them, tilting her head curiously.

"Coming Mr. Todd?" Janice crooked out her elbow and Sweeney drew away, disgusted. Johanna stood, wiping the front of her dress, red streaks appearing across the lace as her hands were scraped. Janice gave her another shove, this one landing her through the leafy branches. Janice beckoned them, holding open the willow like a curtain. She pointed to the corpse and Sweeney retrieved it, following 

Toby inside. Toby was practically jittering from head to toe, Janice's hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from Sweeney, doing no good.

"Here dear," Janice took him by both shoulders and back him up, "You stand here." Johanna clasped her hands together, face wrinkled in pain as she watched on, dried blood caking her neck.

"What are you-" Johanna started and Janice snapped up her hand, brining Johanna to silence. She pushed Toby back and then wrenched his shoulders, sending him to a halt. She gave his shoulders a pat, dusting them off in a motherly fashion and then stepped away.

"Johanna, do come here please." Janice stared at Toby while she said it, eyeing him up and down before taking Johanna by the upper arm and leading her next to the boy. She did much the same with Johanna as she did with Toby, straightened her out and patted her down. And then she stepped away, surveying the scene…

And then, in the blink of an eye, she reached out, a hand clawing around Toby's face and _shoved_. Toby staggered backwards, flailing wildly when he let out a shriek--

And was gone.

Sweeney's heart stopped and Johanna began to scream, a horrid high-pitched noise that could disgrace even the longest of fingernails on a chalk board.

"Toby! Toby!" She cried, dashing to where Toby had last been seen--

And then _she_ was gone. A hollow cry followed her. But Sweeney saw it this time. He hadn't caught on when it had been Toby, but he saw now. She had run in, desperate and crazy, when her foot seemed to sink into the ground, her body rolling downwards, her dress trailing up behind her until she disappeared.

She'd fallen into a hole. _A _grave.

There was a loud –clomp- and –clatter- as limbs connected and tangled together. A shout of relief echoed from the hole, the smacking sound of a kiss following it. Janice leaned over the hole, staring down at it before she spit.

"Vile old hag!" Johanna screeched, the obvious sound of her trying to spit back echoing from the pit.

"You've gone and ruined it now," Janice stamped her foot, "But then again, what a quaint way for lovers to go. Together. Don't you think so Mr. Todd?" Janice turned to him then, the branches splitting again, bathing the area in silver light. He could see clearly now. Four holes, neatly lined in a row, all perfectly cut and dug, were now carved into the earth. He dashed to where he had seen them dissipate, looking over the edge as Janice pulled away.

"Are you alright?" He bellowed.

"No…no…no, Toby's sprained his ankle. He can't stand. He's-"

"Our friend can go here Mr. Todd." Janice whispered as he approached. Sweeney bent down, feeling the edge of the hole, the pale faces of his daughter and Toby staring up at him. He reached out a hand

"I said _here_." Janice snarled, tangling her fingers in Sweeney's hair and wrenching. He let out a strangled shout as he stood, forced to follow as her nails dug viciously into his scalp. She tore him to the pit at the end and thrust him towards it, pointing at it sharply. He dropped the body in, glaring at her, as the roots of his hair screamed.

"That's a good boy Jared. Listen to mommy. Now put the dirt in." Janice swaggered to the trunk of the willow and pulled from the ground a shovel. She handed it him.

"Cover him up. He's good as gone now." Sweeney stood still, clutching the shovel in his hand, fleeting thoughts dashing around his head. Janice's eyes narrowed and he let his grasp lessen and she let it go. She sat herself properly on a rock, rubbing out her skirt, and smiled pleasantly as Sweeney set to work.

"How'd you do this? You said you were too weak when we first met?"

"Do you believe everything you hear Mr. Todd? Did you forget that I myself tended to graves after Daniel died?" Janice smirked, resting her chin in her palm. Sweeney glowered at the ground, watching the body disappear beneath the dirt.

"Oh Jared…all your friends are here, do you know that?" The silence had engulfed them, and then Janice broke it. Sweeney ignored her and kept shoveling.

"Over there," Janice pointed to a clump by the swirled roots, "Is your father. There…_there_ is Carry Anne," A disgusted scoff, "And over there is Liam, and Daniel, and Carl, and oh, little William, and Matthew, and Stan--I almost forgot about Stan…" Her voice trailed off in the back of his head as he tried to shut her out. She was practically dancing around them clearing, pointing out each rough patch that hid away bodies from years ago.

"And this one was _supposed_ to be dear Johanna's." Janice sighed, her voice cutting back into his thoughts, dangerously close. Every hair stood on end, but he kept working.

"If only you had listened Jared. You would've made mommy so much prouder and I wouldn't have had to…to hurt you the way I did. The way I'm going to have to…" Sweeney shut his eyes, his teeth grinding as he tried desperately to shut her out again. He dropped the shovel, throwing behind him as he began to put the dirt back in with his hands. She was close, so close, far _too_ close…

"Papa!" Johanna's scream echoed through the air, piercing it like a blade and Sweeney's head snapped up towards her. She had climbed her way to the edge, hands grappling around in the dirt as she tried to get a hold. One hand gnarled in the ground--but the other was frantically pointing.

And suddenly, he wished he hadn't thrown away the shovel as the back of it cracked against the outside of his skull. Stars bloomed before his eyes, white heat throbbing inside his head as it felt as though his brain were being tossed back and forth. He stumbled about, unable to see past the searing white light when pain sparked at the base of his spine and his knees collapsed out from under him. Sweeney spilt to the ground, blink ferociously.

The shovel his again, across his ribs as he rolled over, and the breath left his lungs. He gasped, mouth falling open and shut like a fish as he desperately tried to breath. It came down once more, across his chest again, and something cracked, splitting against the open air. Somewhere, beyond the haze of pain, Sweeney could hear Johanna screaming again. And then the shovel caught him across the face one more, smashing against his nose and the blood filled his mouth as he gagged and spat it out.

She was laughing…_laughing_. But she suddenly stopped, laughing so hard she staggered away, clasping her stomach as she howled with maniacally insane laughter. Sweeney's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body spasming as he his vision slowly began to grow black…

And then something –thumped- beside him. His eyes lay in focus for a moment more and he reached, fingers curling around d silver and clutching to his chest before it all faded…

* * *

Johanna held Toby to her, pulling him back down from where he had perched and thrown the razor. O god, had he gotten it? It was silent now and she began to cry softly. She buried her face in Toby's neck and shrieked when clods of dirt crumbled atop her head. She looked up. Janice stood over the edge, eyes wide with a wicked smile as she shoveled up another pile full of dirt and dumped it in.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" Johanna began to screech, her throat going raw as the dirt crunched inside her mouth. She spat, coughing and shuddering as Toby held her close. Another shovelful of dirt hit them and Johanna stopped screaming and relented to crying. They were going to die here. There was no dream here for them. There never had been…

* * *

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" And the screams split the darkness and Sweeney opened his eyes, the blood getting in them and making them sting. He blinked rapidly, his head throbbing, his nose aching, the blood welling in his mouth as he rolled onto his stomach. Pain sprang up from the right side of his chest and he ground, pushing himself to his knees as spot danced before his eyes. Swaggering to his feet, he stood, hunched over and broken as he looked around wildly.

The blue dress caught his eye and a sudden rage filled him as he watched, wiping the crimson tracks of blood from his face. It kept coming and he continued to swipe it away, gruffing angrily as he stumbled towards the blue dress, set maddeningly on it's the woman who wore it--the _monster_ who wore it.

The razor opened with a click…

* * *

Johanna's sobs echoed from the pit as Janice bent over it, piling in clod after clod of dirt. She began to giggle, every mental wire still keeping her stable and sane finally snapping. She no longer had the youth to sustain it; it completely melted down. She smiled widely, crazily as she piled more and more dirt. She began to work faster, her movements becoming jerkier as she began to fall into a bout of hysterics, her laughter reaching a level of insane many never encounter (never want to encounter).

-_click_-

And she spun around, a smile still on her face, shovel still in hand, still laughing--and then the world went red…

* * *

It splattered everywhere, sputtering like a fountain. Janice's mouth opened into a large round 'O' of shock as she gripped at her throat, the shovel clattering to the ground. Sweeney advanced on her again, sinking the blade into her jugular, blood spouting rapidly from her neck. She tried to scream, an airless whisper the only noise. She stared at him, stumbling backwards, blood soaked hands grasping in 

his shirt as he plunged the blade deeper. A dry screech echoed past her lips and suddenly tears were tracking down her cheeks, cutting through the blood in small streams.

He sank the razor in one last time, with every last bit of strength he had. _For Sweeney Todd, for Benjamin Barker, for Johanna Barker, For Toby, for all the innocents, for Geoffrey Pickard, for Daniel Crawly, and for Jared Crawly: A-fucking-men_.

Janice reeled backwards, her eyes rolling up into the whites as she her foot hit the air, her body rearing into one of the very pits she had dug herself. Sweeney gasped for breath, his body aching with every movement, every breath, every heart beat--

And he collapsed.

Beyond the whirling mass of the world, golden streaks danced in front of his eyes. He reached out, fingering them gingerly as his breathing became more shallow, his chest heaving. The blood was gathering in his mouth again, bubbling from his nose. Someone's hands grasped his face, another set gently cradling the back of his head.

"Don't go papa, don't go…" Broke through on waves of the haze. It felt like, every time he breathed, something continuously pieced his lungs. The blood was getting into his eyes again and someone wiped it away with a feisty hand. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It _hurt_.

"Johanna…" He clutched her to him, clenching her trembling body. Toby turned his head away, teeth sinking into his lower lip as his small body wracked with crushed back sobs. Sweeney touched his face, fingers leaving red streaks across his cheek. Toby clutched it, grasping it firmly.

"Please Papa, I love you…don't go, I love you."

He couldn't speak, the blood bubbling from his mouth, over-taking it. But she looked into his eyes, heart breaking--

Sweeney Todd-no, Benjamin Barker, father of Johanna Barker, husband of Lucy Barker, would never leave his daughter. He'd always be with her. From today on, until the rest of time…

* * *

See? And this, my friends, is why I need to have an **Epilogue** or else I'm going to get beaten to death for leaving you all at this spot xD Expect that up soon!Again, thank you to all (during the **Epilogue** I'll have a formal thanks for all...).


	29. Epilogue

A/N: And so now, I bring to you, the actual ending of **_Return of the Demon_**. I want to thank all my fans, my reviewers, my friends, the people who put me on alerts, added me to their "Favorite Author"'s list, added my story to their "Favorites"'s, and who enjoyed my story in general. All of you provided me with outstanding amounts of motivation and inspiration. I can't thank you enough. I wish more than anything I could go and individually thank each and every one of you...

Thank you all so much.

And again, holy shit, I finished a story xD

* * *

_**Epilogue:**_

_It was a quaint old place, overlooking the bluffs to the sea below, the waves crashing against the side of the cliffs. The cottage was small, eloquent; a pale blue with white shutters, a white fringe hanging off the rooftop. From the edge of the drop off, you could see the beach below where children and adults alike played amongst the surf._

_"Lunch time!" Johanna called from through the screen door, ringing the small bell. She held it open, a hand resting on her prominent tummy, already far into her latest pregnancy. Two children came bustling from around the corner of the house, one with a bobbing mass of gold curls and the other with ringlets of black. Behind them followed their father, tufts of dark hair standing up in every direction, bandages over his eyes, clean and pristine by the hands who wrapped them._

_"Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's a monster!" The blonde one shouted, her little grubby fists tracking dirt on Johanna's dress. The dark one hid behind his sister, peeking out from over her shoulder and burying his face into her hair. Toby laughed, scooping the blonde one up and kissing her cheek._

_"Come now Lucy, Daddy can't be that mean!" Johanna chuckled, ushering them all in. The dark one ran to the table and plopped into his chair, reaching immediately for his lunch._

_"Benjamin," Toby scolded, "Wash your hands first. You'll get sick if you eat with dirty hands."_

_"But-" Benjamin started to whine, but Toby cut him off with a glare. Pouting out his bottom lip, Benjamin sulked away, blue eyes glistening with frustrated tears. Lucy giggled and chased after him, both of them ending up in a wrestling match in hopes to get to the washing basin first._

_"Keep fighting and there's no dessert!" Johanna threatened, reaching for a bowl of freshly picked strawberries. Immediately, both children calmed down, mumbling under their breath as they respectfully washed their hands. Johanna smiled slyly, kissing Toby lightly on the lips as he enveloped her in a hug._

_"I don't know how I ended up with a woman like you."_

_"I love you, that's how."_

_"Good to know. The feeling's mutual." Toby chuckled, kissing her again. She wrapped her arms about his neck, smiling against his lips as he gave her bottom a pat._

_"Oh please, if you're going to do that, keep it out of the site of the children." Johanna broke away, eyes narrowing._

_"Be nice Papa." Johanna scolded, pulling out the chairs for Lucy and Benjamin._

_"Just because I let you marry my daughter doesn't mean I approve of you having such intimate relations with her Tobias," Sweeney snapped, "Leave that for the adults." Toby scoffed, kissing Johanna again and seating himself for lunch. Johanna giggled, setting out the food and sitting herself down as well._

_"Have you decided on the names yet?" Sweeney asked, munching into the strawberries. Johanna nodded, dabbing at her chin as red juice spilled her mouth. Toby handed her a napkin and she smiled in thanks._

_"For a boy, we're in an argument over Antony and Jared." Toby smiled, patting Johanna's hand. A small smile graced Sweeney's lips._

_"And if it's a girl?"_

_"I've always loved the name Nellie." Johanna said quietly, her eyes soft. Sweeney took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. A Nellie, a Jared, or an Antony. All sounded wonderful. The name Jared still brought back haunting memories, though. Sweeney rubbed his nose, fingering the scar that marred across it. It had become a habit…_

_**(Quartely Report:**_

_**The body of one Geoffrey Pickard was discovered by the local paper boy. He reported a "horrid stench" coming from within the Crawly household. Funeral mass was held the next Sunday. He was buried next to his family.**_

**_It was later discovered, upon thorough investigation, that tracks and blood leading to the forest were followed. The bloody body of one Janice Crawly was soon discovered, along with the body of an unidentifiable young man in one of the four pits that had been dug. The area was put up and locked down for investigation. The remains of over fourteen victims were found. All young men one Janice Crawly had ben accused of. The remains of two others, a man and woman, have been dated back more than thirty or so years...even later._**

**_Whom they are has yet to be identified. _**

**_A blade was found in one Janice Crawly's sash. It is believed she killed the unidentified man in the other hole. A razor was also found in her possession, clutched in her hand. It is believed she commited suicide soon after her act of violence to the unidentified man._**

**_More will be updated soon._**

_**Signed: **_**George Bailey _ (A/N: You get a cookie if you remember that name...) ) _**

_And three children really should be enough, don't you think? It had to be. In fact, it might be too much already…_

_"And how many grandchildren can I be expecting?" Sweeney asked, a slight joking ring to the question. Johanna answered first._

_"I'd like five or six." Sweeney nearly choked on his next strawberry and Toby shot a fine mist of his drink across the table. Toby coughed into the crook of his arm. Sweeney swallowed the rest of his fruit, patting his chest to urge it down._

_"Five or six!?"_

--

And here, so have I, dealt you the tale of how the demon barber of Fleet Street was not as dead as many had come to think. I have told my tale, my story has been spun and I am fresh out of words. I have drawn to a close, and my friends, that signals the end. It was a story sorrow…a story of horror…a story of fascination. A story that not only played wrongly in the domain of God, but has brought to us the story of a broken man who rebuilt himself from the grave.

I have woven my story, my tale. And now, it ends…


End file.
